Dragon Nest : Origin Point
by Fifth Ace Joker
Summary: Bringing up their pasts. Rothius' rejection of his humanity, and acceptance. Alurrie's journeys. Seleece's source of bloodlust and anger. Nickolaus' personal burdens. Lars' heart-rending guilt. And the accident that tore their guild apart.
1. Chapter 1 : Storm Of Ends And Starts

Deep within Rothius' subconscious, a flashback played, about how he started his life as the Dark Mask, 15 years ago.

It was a stormy day in a river near the border between Lotus Marsh and East, two travelers, a dark-skinned Barbarian and a snappy-dressed Crusader were braving the storm.  
"Hey, Angelic Killer, bad storm we're having, eh?"  
After hearing the sentence end, the Crusader flicked his right wrist and assumed a thinking position.  
"We've been having this storm 4 days straight by now. It'd be bad if the nearby villages went under because of any flood."  
The Barbarian let out a hearty laugh, but with tones of worry noticeable.  
"Nearby villages, eh? Then that would be bad."  
The Crusader chuckled, keeping his thinking position.  
"I forget, your village is fourth nearest to this river."  
They saw a suspicious burlap sack with human blood seeping from it near the bank, and hauled it in.  
Opening it, they saw a horrific sight within.  
Inside, was the notorious traitor, Rothius, chopped up by the joints, and his severed head sitting on top of the heap.  
Growing curious, the Barbarian looked at the Crusader, which looked back with the same questioning eyes.  
"It's the corpse of Rothius the Traitor. What should we do with it, Angelic Killer?"  
The Saint scanned the body, tracing the cuts.  
"Village Chief, these are made by guillotine blades. First, we take it to your hut. I need to trace how could anyone catch him and chop him up for the meat market."  
"Y'know, for a trained Priest, you sure talk like some psycho killer expert."  
"Should I remind you how I got my 'Angelic Killer' codename?"  
"Nah, you don't need to remind me."  
The two laughed, unwary that the severed head's eyes already popped open.

Lifting the bag with one arm, the Barbarian walked away right behind the Crusader, both trudging back to a hut.

Though it didn't take them long, the storm made them feel like they walked for hours even if they used the warp stations to cut the travel time.

Entering the hut, and lifting the trapdoor to the basement, they quickly laid out the corpse as soon as they closed the door, not knowing the severed head already watching their every move.

The Crusader put them in order as the Barbarian watched while washing the blood off his clothes and armor.

Rothius' eyes closely watched their every move, as the Saint positioned everything in place.

He closed them when the Saint turned to face his head, then put it in place.

"Village Chief, do you think my idea would work?"

The Barbarian laughed, as he went near the Crusader and patted his shoulder.

"I trust your instinct this time."

And in the few minutes that had passed, they watched as the nerves, bones, muscles and flesh slowly reconnect themselves.

Slowly sitting up, Rothius' body reconnected its head.

The two watched in surprise as the flesh reconnected as if it hasn't been cleaved.

The Barbarian tossed a shirt and pants to him, and sat down.

"Dress yourself up."

Rothius did as he was told, and as soon as he wore the shirt, the two aimed their weapons at him.

The Crusader grabbed a butcher's cleaver off the hook on the wall and tapped Rothius' neck.

"How did you wind up like that, all butchered up?"

Rothius smirked evilly, as his dark aura filled the air.

"Trying to kill myself, in an effort to seal the Black Dragon's power."

The Crusader winced a bit, while the Barbarian pressed his ax's edge against Rothius' neck.

"He's a known traitor, be careful!"

"This is how you treat an unarmed man? Take it easy, I only have a quarter of a mind to attack both of you, right about now."

Both slowly lowered their weapons, never taking their eyes off Rothius, in case he attacks them.

The Barbarian sat on a wooden mat and offered him a large jug of wine.

"Welcome to my village, Rothius, known throughout Legendia as Rothius the Traitor. I, on the other hand, view you as a possible ally to my village. My name is Nickolaus, but please call me Nick. Barbarian ever since I was a wee lad."

Rothius took the jug and gulped a few mouthfuls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The Crusade sat at another wooden mat, and looked at him with sharp eyes.

"The name's Lars, known as the Angelic Killer. You have probably heard of me as the-"

"-The Priest that presided over executions, often doing them himself, the morgue and its processes, all the way to the last rites at their graves. Indeed, I have heard of you. You took up being a Crusader exactly a year after the selection battle for the 6th Hero."

Lars laughed, patting his left thigh as he did so.

"And what of your former comrades-in-arms? I heard you-"

"-Killed them all. Yes, I did. In a fit of rage brought about by their pestering. Ami, the Elven Champion, Saladin, the King Of Lunar Knights, Stormgrace the Benevolent, The Shooting Star whose name eluded all of us, and Alurrie, Lady Kasarana's other protege, who, if I may add, was a master of all forms of magic."

Nick held his chin with one hand and drank from another, smaller jug of wine with the other.

"After your desertion of the 2nd-Generation Six Heroes, almost all of Legendia saw you as a heretic, the repetition of Velskud's tragedy, no, even worse. With Argenta vanishing somewhere, and Geraint dead, none of them were able to stop you from gaining all those powers."

Lars eased up, and looked at the ceiling, and sighed.

"But after all that has happened, you are too humane to be Velskud's successor, a bit too humane to be a true monster."

Rothius glanced at both of them, and smiled.

"Velskud had his reasons, I have my own. Simple as that. He just wanted the power for himself, I wanted to seal this power."

Nick stood up, and opened an iron-reinforced wooden chest.

Taking out a set of armor, a pair of weapons and a cloak, he laid them in front of Rothius, who looked at him with great bewilderment.

"Consider this a peace offering, if you will. To keep your hands off my village."

Rothius laughed, and looked at Nick straight in the eye.

"I'm not as bad as Velskud was, and as for this gift, I thank you for your kindness."

Lars chuckled as Rothius wore the armor and weapons presented to him.

"Perhaps you should stay here for a while to recover, right, Nick?"

Laughing, Nick nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, probably work for my village for a while, protect it. The attacks from the Dragon Cult are getting worse by the day."

Rothius stood up, feeling the warming effect of the wine wash over him, and gave Nick a thumbs up, signifying his agreement.

"Just give me a good weapon, then we can start the Grim Reaper's festival."

Upon finishing that sentence, he fell on one knee and lost consciousness, once again.

Lars stood up, and pulled him to the nearest headrest for him to sleep on.

"What a bad liar, as you said, eh, Lady Alurrie?"

Alurrie walked out of a trapdoor, smiling a bit.

"He's just feeling the full swing of guilt and remorse of being unable to seal the Black Dragon's powers. Well, I'll be off to another long journey, and please, never tell him I was here. Really, what a fragile-hearted man he is."

Touching Rothius' face as he slept, Alurrie smiled weakly.

"Sometimes, you are too humane for your own good, my dear friend."

"Nnnngh. . . Teluna. . ."

She gave a weak chuckle.

"Even in dreams his love for her never wanes, only waxes."

Nick sat down on his place, and gave Alurrie a warm smile.

"Teluna, the current Queen of the Dark Elves, successor to the deceased Elena the Red, is his lover?"

Alurrie sat down, a sad smile forming on her face.

"Not just his lover, she is his only confidante, his greatest ally, and his wife."

Lars nearly jumped back in surprise.

"H-H-His wife!? THAT Teluna, Rothius' wife!?"

"Why, yes. They got married a week before the last battle in the Cliffland, where we cornered Velskud and slew him before he was able to turn to the Black Dragon."

Looking at her long-time ally's sleeping face, she traced a finger over his eyes.

"Well Nick, I'll be off on my journey now. Remember, do not tell him I was here."

Both Nick and Lars nodded, and Alurrie ran out through the same entrance she used.

Nick sealed the trapdoor's edges with mud to hide it well, while Lars single-handedly carried Rothius by the collar, and went upstairs.

A young Kali, around 5 or 6 years of age, carrying a small pile of blankets saw him, and smiled.

"Master Lars, who is that man?"

"A Legendary Hero, of the Six. Can you tell me who you adore the most?"

"Of course, the Blood-Soaked Bladesmaster, Rothius!"

Lars grinned, and looked at her.

"This man is him. Prepare a bed for me, won't you, Little Hazirra?"

The child's eyes glowed with delight, as she nodded then sped off to a vacant room to prepare what was needed.

Lars carefully laid Rothius' sleeping body on the mat, while Hazirra sat beside him.

"I'll watch over him, Master Lars!"

Smiling, Lars patted her head and nodded, giving his permission.

As soon as she heard him leave, she poked Rothius' left cheek.

She looked at him with eyes wide open with delight, as she sat near him and held his rough, calloused left hand, her other hand stroking his blonde hair.

Her stroking suddenly stopped when his right hand grabbed her frail wrist that it almost broke, his blue eyes staring into her black ones, which had tears threatening to fall in pain.

Quickly releasing his grip, and holding the frightened child close to his chest, he patted her head as he smiled calmly at her.

"I'm sorry if I surprised you, little child. Your name is?"  
Wiping her tears with her right hand, she sniffed and looked at his face.

"H-Hazirra. . . Master Rothius. . ."

She couldn't contain the urge to cry, prompting Rothius to hold her close and ease her pain.

Lars burst in to the room, and quickly cast a healing spell on her right wrist, which still had grip marks on them.

"I'm sorry, Lars. It was my fault."

"And I implore you to forgive her actions as well. Those are but the actions of a little girl, treat them as such."

"And so I shall. She has incurred not my wrath but only my surprise."

Hazirra turned and bowed to Lars, as he walked out of the door.

As soon as he turned left, she jumped from Rothius' lap and bowed to him as well, then went out.

Upon hearing the footsteps grow faint, he resumed his lying position and looked out of the window, out to the storm.

A single thought made his eyelids heavy.

"I do not have any idea at all how to seal this power, and I fear that it will consume me. I can control it easily for now, but up to when?"

Closing his eyes in deep thought, he tried to find a way to fully seal it.

A little finger poking his left side made him jump out of bed and cling to the ceiling with a loud yelp of surprise.

Hazirra was back with a tray of warm food on it, although it had a bit too much food.

Rothius let go of the ceiling and landed on both feet on the floor.

"I never knew that you were that easy to surprise, Master Rothius."

Letting out a loud laugh, he patted the child's head and took the tray from her, starting with the bowl of soup.

Sitting down while savoring that first gulp, Rothius never looked so content with a meal.

Hazirra sat next to him, watching his every move with eyes wide open and a genuinely-happy smile on her face.

And in the span of what seemed like a few minutes, Rothius cleaned up all the food from the plates.

Bones from the meat, used cutlery and plates piled up neatly on the tray, while Hazirra rested her head on Rothius' right thigh, in a deep cold afternoon nap.

Resting his head on the wall behind him, Rothius traced his view on the ceiling, his brows furrowed as his thoughts deepened.

No place to return to aside from the kingdom of the Dark Elves, no reason to continue his fight.

The moment when he felt tears from Hazirra's eyes as she slept that his resolve came back, full force.

This was a possible fresh start, a chance to remake a life here from scratch.

"It might mean I'm throwing that life away, but for a start like this, I won't think twice."

Nick went in the room and clapped lightly.

"Very well. It would seem you have made up your mind."

Rothius nodded, and they shook hands.

"And with that out of the way, tonight, we celebrate!"

Rothius looked at him with a puzzled face.

"Uh. . . Celebrate what?"

"Your new start, and to welcome you into our village!"

A loud laugh boomed into the room, and he was pushed by Hazirra to the open-air bath they had at that house.

Two adult Kalis were there to service him, and bowed as soon as he laid eyes on them.

Hazirra joined them, as she scrubbed his back.

"Big sister, you know who he is?"

A silver-haired Kali smiled as she looked at Hazirra.

"Why yes. The hero, the Blood-Soaked Bladesmaster Rothius, the one you like the most, right?"

Hazirra nodded, and after a few more seconds of scrubbing his back, all 3 pushed him to the steaming water.

The brown-haired one left with Hazirra in tow, while the silver-haired one stayed behind and brought out a jug of wine.

Quickly changing to a towel as Rothius still had his head in the water, she went down into it as Rothius rose up for air.

"Allow me to service you, my lord."

And as she slowly approached him, she slowly took off her towel, while Rothius bashfully looked away.  
"N-N-N-N-No need f-f-for that! P-p-please, I'm OK by myself, really!"

She bowed, went out of the water, and quickly clothed herself up.

Upon hearing the door slam shut, Rothius was finally able to relax.

Resting his head on the edge of the pool, he looked at the sky.

"The storm finally let up, huh?"

The constellations were visible in the clear night sky, along with the moon.

Letting out a sigh of hope and relief, and a smile crept across his face.

"I hope that this fresh start would allow me to someday seal the Black Dragon's powers, or use it for good at least."

And the hour for the festivities had come. 9 Kalis danced around the bonfire, as Rothius and Nick drank jug upon jug of wine, while Lars enjoyed his.

All 3 laughed while feasting on the food served to them.

Roast pig, cow, and chicken served with bread was their meal, each animal well-raised and on the peak of health.

Deep within his heart, Rothius wished it would last forever.

The tranquility and contentment he had felt in this place, and in his heart.

Hope welled up within the very depths of his soul.

Nick put one of his arms on Rothius' shoulder.

"Want to know one useless secret as to why I keep all these Kalis in my house?"  
"Your. . . personal harem?"

He only responded with a loud laugh.

"But all of them are virgins! I prefer being celibate until the day I get married!"

"Good choice, good choice!"

"You couldn't tell by a glance, but Nick is more chaste than I am!"

All 3 burst out laughing, especially Rothius.

And he truly laughed with all his being, as the night rolled on.

Each Kali dropped a flower on his lap, along with a wink.

Hazirra placed a wreath of flowers on his neck, and smiled at him.

Giving her a pat on the head as a reward, along with a gold coin, he motioned for her to stay away.

Jokes were shared by the 3, with Lars laughing the loudest.

And as the fire died down and the 3 passed out from inebriation, their festivities ended.

3 months had passed like a week, and the stormy weather subsided for a while.

Out for hunting monsters that might threaten the village by sunrise to sunset, Nick, Lars, and Rothius travelled various ruins in their area.

Little did they know that their latest sortie would change the course of their quiet lives.

Facing a revived executioner leading a pack of deranged undead Rune Tigers, they knew they were in for a long battle they can't afford to lose.

Nick got forced to the wall by tigers just like Lars, and left unable to move.

Fending off tigers, Rothius struggled to free his benefactors from those holding them in place when the executioner's halberd impaled him from behind, and a tiger's large fangs bit him on the shoulder, drawing blood.

Nick struggled as hard as he could but he couldn't move from the Rune Tigers' large paws pressing on his joints.

Lars beat the legs holding him down as hard as he could, but even his sharpened mace couldn't to a thing.

In an instant, Rothius was drawn to his subconscious, where he would meet with the Black Dragon face-to-face for the first time.

"**Do you want to live?**"

He nodded, speechless before its massive form.

"**Then give me your body.**"

He hesitated for a moment, and the Black Dragon copied his form.

"**Hurry it up, if you want to live.**"

Rothius knew there was no other way to proceed, and agreed.

"**Time has come for us to bestow hell upon our enemies.**"

And with a low, menacing laughter ringing in his ears, Rothius felt himself sink into darkness.

It happened in an instant, as a loud roar resonated within that torch-lit chamber.

Suddenly grinning, two dark discs of energy sewed in and out of the executioner's body, as Rothius ripped its head off, not even bothering to pull out the halberd that impaled him.

The executioner's body fell in pieces, the head ripped roughly and was resting in Rothius' palm, purple blood dripping loudly on the floor, and the tiger moving back in fear from him.

Rothius looked straight to its eyes, and a demonic grin formed on his face as he slowly pulled the halberd's blade out of his body, the hole slowly sealing itself up.

In a desperate move, it lunged forward to try and attack Rothius, but was met with its prey voluntarily diving into its body.

By mere seconds, its howls and screeches rang throughout the chamber as Rothius ripped its innards with wild swings, slicing muscle, organ and bone, and as the Rune Tiger stood on its hind legs, he burst out of its stomach, soaked in stomach acid and blood.

Nick and Lars knew at that moment something was off.

Rothius' eyes were fiercely glowing, like roaring flames, and his shadow, they saw the Black Dragon's roaring silhouette.

Shaking off the uncertainty flooding them, Nick and Lars struggled twice as hard, with the former howling four times as he pushed the Rune Tigers away, while Nick summoned Relics that impaled the Rune Tigers down.

Slowly walking towards the Rune Tigers, Rothius readied his blade.

"**Halfmoon Slash.**"

With an unregulated amount of strength, that swing cleaved the tigers in half, barely missing his two allies by mere centimeters.

But what was most disturbing what the cleave it made.

Instead of the white trace of power, it looked like a claw of the Black Dragon ripped through them.

Lars approached Rothius, throwing caution to the wind, and grabbed him by the collar.

"You bastard, **WHERE. IS. ROTHIUS!?**"

The body grinned, and looked at him.

"**He bequeathed control of this body to me. Wherefore art thou infuriated!?**"

A telekinetic blast sent Lars flying, as Rothius turned his back from them.

"**It won't be long before my grip in this body wanes again. I leave it in thine hands.**"

As soon as it finished its sentence, it fell down, unconscious.

Nick and Lars rushed over and carried him back to the village.

Using a warp stone to return to their village in an instant, they rushed to Rothius' room and laid him there before they tended to their own wounds.

It was by nightfall that Rothius regained consciousness, and saw Hazirra's nearly-crying face looming over his.

After sitting up, she hugged him while crying as Nick and Lars entered the room, with the latter having a furious look on his face, his eyes sharp like daggers.

"Are you Rothius, or the Black Dragon? Talk."

Rothius gave an uneasy laugh, along with a nervous smile.

"I-it's me, Rothius! Really! So please, enough with that stare, Lars!"

It only served for Lars to advance threateningly towards him, and drew his weapon.

Threatened, Rothius reached for the closest thing his right hand could grab, and threw it at Lars.

"A. . . Blanket?"  
Lars laughed, and put his weapon away.

Their relief was broken when a Dark Elf burst into the room, covered with wounds.

"M-my King. . . You have. . . to return. . . Queen. . . trouble. . ."

Nick supported the wounded Dark Elf to keep her from falling to the floor.

"Rothius, I give you my permission to go."

Alarmed, Rothius readied himself for the news.

"Warped here. . . hurry. . . marauders. . . almost there. . ."

The Dark Elf limped lifeless in Nick's arm.

Nick threw a warp stone towards Rothius, who caught it with his left hand.

"Go. Your wife needs you, friend. I shall give you back your freedom, but do return here should you feel like it."

Rothius nodded, his eyes burning with resolve.

"I can never pay you back enough, friend. I thank you for your help for all this time. Forgive me!"

Activating the warp stone, he teleported straight to the heart of the Dark Elves' kingdom.

What he saw made his blood boil.

The castle was defiled, and corpses of Dark Elves littered the road.

Fear gripped his heart on seeing all of it.

"**My God.**"


	2. Chapter 2 : Humanity Be Damned

"**. . . My God.**"

What he saw was enough to make him go mad.  
His blood began boiling as one thought began playing in his head.  
The Black Dragon's voice repeating that same sick chorus.  
"**KILL THE SONS OF WHORES AND THE WHORES THEMSELVES, CLEAVE THEIR HEADS OFF - AND CONSUME THEIR CORPSES AFTER DEFILING THEM IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE!**"  
". . . Your point being?"  
"**RIP THEIR INTESTINES OUT, USE IT AS A CONTRACEPTIVE WHILE YOU FORNICATE WITH THEIR SKULLS!**"  
". . . What's a contraceptive?"  
"**Exactly.**"

Shaking his head, Rothius charged forward, but his body felt heavier with each step.  
"**Son, this'll hurt.**"  
His body ripped itself when his muscles bulged a bit, and felt that at any moment would snap his bones in pieces.  
Rothius lost all sense of balance as his body changed itself against his will.  
It lasted for a full minute before he got a lungful of air, and found himself able to move again, however at a much quicker pace.  
He found his steps lighter and faster, and swinging his sword wasn't has tiring as before, in fact, he felt as though he was swinging a mere feather.  
Encountering two towering Destroyers, he readied his blade.  
"I'm in a hurry to the castle. Don't get in my way."  
The two simply readied their hammers, as they dashed towards Rothius, hammers ready to strike.  
Rothius replied their actions with his, as he took on the hacking stance.  
He knew that the simplest mis-step meant disaster, or even death.  
As his opponents closed in, he moved forward, and in a swing, cut through them with a different level of strength.  
Something changed within him, as the realization washed over him and flooded his soul with terror.  
He loved the feel of blood spraying over his face and body.  
Yet something was off. Blood was usually warm, but theirs were cold, but satisfying nonetheless.  
A devilish grin formed on his face as he ended the swing, and ran forward right after sheathing his blade.  
Only one wish was in his heart - that he may reach his beloved in time, and save her.  
The only problem was one thing, and that was reaching the castle in time.  
Arriving at the overlooking chasm, where he could see their kingdom down below, he wished himself luck.  
Rothius plunged headfirst down, the wind whipping through him.  
"**Use my wings to break the force of the fall, kid.**"  
"How?"  
"**It'll come naturally. This body is ours, after all.**"  
It felt and looked so natural how those black wings flapped, effectively breaking his fall.  
"**My lips are sealed from hereon out. Just do one thing for me - KILL THEM, AND DO IT WELL. DON'T HOLD BACK.**"  
"You don't need to keep telling me that. It's top one on my list."  
The Black Dragon's laugh resonated within his head, as Rothius readied his sword yet again.

A familiar voice called out to him, and he looked at the direction where it came from.  
"Is that. . . you. . . my lord. . . ?"  
"Caelia!"  
"This armor. . . For you. . . made. . . from E. . . Corpse. . . Dark Elf. . . ground nails and bones. . . blood and metal. . ."  
As soon as Caelia uttered that last word, she limped, lifeless.  
Looking at the armor, it was wrapped with a dark aura, akin to his.  
Equipping it felt so natural, like it was empowering him.  
"It's styled after the Yosyu armor, yet different from it."  
After securing the armor's straps, he placed Caelia's corpse on one of the tables and covered it with one of the cloths lying in the workshop.  
Walking away, his resolve turned grim as he felt his blood boil, his fury heating up further.  
He ran towards the castle again, he felt a few gazes on him.  
The sound of the bow being drawn, the arrow's tip hitting the wood, and the slow breaths heightened his alertness.  
A whoosh made him jump up as an arrow nearly hit his foot, while several others hit him on the abdomen and left thigh, with one getting caught between his index and middle finger.  
Landing with his other hand and both feet, he stood straight and threw the arrow back whence it came, hitting the elf that shot it straight in between the eyes, and embedded it straight to her brain.  
Concentrating the Black Dragon's power to his right hand, black fireballs sprung from his fingertips.  
"Black Fire Rain!"  
Letting the fireballs loose, they gained size as they rose up to the air and found their targets.  
Amidst the screams and the smell of burning flesh, he turned his back and continued running despite the grim satisfaction that welled in his heart.  
Pulling out the arrows as he ran, he readied his blade for anything that might be his next opponent.

4 Armored Ogres laid waste to the town square when he arrived, and the streets were littered with corpses of Dark Elves.  
With a roar, he raised his blade and rushed towards them, his fury reaching its peak.  
Continuing his roar, and the ogres looked at him, clubs poised to strike.  
Each club thundered down on Rothius, who blocked the clubs with an equally-powerful punch.  
"**CRY.**"  
A blast of dark energy sent the clubs flying out the the ogres' hands.  
"**SCREAM.**"  
Four large claw-like tendrils came out of his back, and impaled each at the forehead, going through their heads to the back, split to two, and latched onto the top of the head and the spine.  
"**DIE.**"  
Using a phantom arm to grab his sword, he swung his arm in a wide arc, slicing their stomachs open and spilling out their insides.  
Blood sprayed everywhere as the tendrils ripped the ogres apart, then thrashed around, further cutting the carcasses roughly to large chunks of meat, each making a loud splat upon landing.  
Tears began streaming down his face as a maddening laugh rang through the air, as his dark powers drained the corpses of everything, reducing even the bones to dust.  
His armor seemed to respond to what was happening to him, sending its own latent energy pulsating throughout its parts.  
Calming down, and falling on one knee, Rothius felt a new wave of the Black Dragon's powers wash over him.  
"Just a bit more. . . Agh. . ."  
Slapping the knee that faced the ground, a frown formed on his face.  
"Damn you! MOVE, DAMNIT!"  
Shakily standing up, he took a shivering step forward, and another.  
It took him a few more steps until he was able to move normally, and some more to be able to run.  
As he ran, it felt like his legs, from the thighs down, began changing slowly.  
His bones hardened, and the tips of the phalanges turned to clawed ones, and his muscles expand and wrap around the bones.  
Each step made him faster, and put a new level of bounce to his steps, each bound lengthened.  
His heart beat faster, dread and fear flooding it, the cold grip tightening by the second.  
A wish kept him sane : To arrive and save his beloved Teluna before any harm could come to her.  
Tears that flowed down his face stopped, as his resolve skyrocketed, fueled by warming thoughts of her kind, sweet smile.  
He arrived at a broken bridge, evidently done by Orcs skilled with explosives.  
Moving back a few steps, he readied himself to jump.  
Sprinting forward, and jumping after using the full power of one leg, he shot forward further that he expected, and caught up with a group of Orcs armed with explosives.  
Curling his right leg mid-air, upon reaching an Orc's head in-range, he kicked full-force, ripping it off along with half the spinal column, and got caught on his right boot.  
Kicking it off his right foot, the head hit another square in the chest and activated the explosives strapped on its body.  
Landing and rolling to keep the momentum of his jump, he resumed running towards his destination.

Upon arrival, his fear completely drowned him.  
The castle was on fire, and smoke stung his eyes as he slowly walked forward, his heartbeat getting louder each time.  
"Who could've. . .? Why would. . .?"  
He heard an Elf laughing while pinning a wounded Dark Elf against the wall with her bow and arrow, aimed at the heart.  
The Dark Elf closed her eyes in pain as the arrow pierced her heart, and pinned her to the wall, the Elf's laugh ringing in her ears.  
Her vision started to blur, but she still managed to see a black trace of power as the Elf's head jumped from the neck, and blood spurted like a fountain.  
Rothius crushed the Dark Elf's head to quickly end her life, and resumed walking.  
In his clouded vision, enemies seemed to be red blots, while everything else seemed to be black and white.  
The Black Dragon's aura blazed through and around his body, as his steps rang through the hall to the throne room.  
Anger ruled all of him, blocking most of his senses as he hacked through anyone who came across him.  
Heads, arms, legs, torsos littered the hallways as he walked through, wildly swinging his blade.  
He grabbed a Saint as he walked, and ripped his enemy's jaw off with one hand and gouged out the eyes with the other, and threw the corpse aside like a used rag.  
Next that fell before him was a Gladiator, who was skilled enough to put a slight dent on his helm, and that Gladiator had his throat ripped out with Rothius' fanged teeth.  
That is, until he reached the door to the Dark Elf Queen's throne room, his beloved Telreju's throne room.  
Opening the chamber doors, he was treated to a horrific sight.  
His wife's head rested on the throne. and her lifeless body laid on the floor, being toyed around by 8 warriors.  
A party composed of a Barbarian, 2 Lunar Knights, 2 Snipers, an Ice Witch, a Pyromancer, and an Inquisitor stood around her body, blood forming a pool around it, while her head rested on her throne.  
The trigger was the sight of the Barbarian holding a still beating heart in his gauntleted hand.  
"So it is true! Dark Elves' hearts are black! Look at it, and how it still beats!"  
As the 8 laughed and cheered, Rothius lost his sanity, his rule over his own instincts as he trudged towards them.  
Not noticing his presence, the Barbarian was impaled with Rothius' arm, his own heart ripped out and resting on the palm.  
The cheers and laughter of the remaining 7 turned to horrified shrieks and screams as the Barbarian's heart was squeezed until it ruptured, spurting blood on their faces and armors.

"IT'S ROTHIUS! ROTHIUS HAS RETURNED! THE TRAITOR! KILL HIM!"  
Rothius threw the body of the Barbarian he killed off his arm, tossed his helm to one side, and ate the Barbarian's heart.  
He felt his soul break down, and his heart die, and his own consciousness joined the sick chorus the Black Dragon's been feeding his mind.  
"**KILL THEM.**"  
His visioned blacked out and he felt his body move on its own.  
Blade raised, it moved towards his wife's murderers, the Black Dragon's aura filling the air.  
4 phantom arms grew on his back, scraping thr ground with their claws.  
The 2 Lunar Knights responded to his actions by readying their blades.  
"Flash Stance!"  
Rothius responded by readying his own blade, now wrapped in the Black Dragon's flames.  
"**FLASH. . . STANCE. . .**"  
Both sides began attacking from a distance, their powers clashing in the middle, each cut creating a booming sound and strong wind.  
A Sniper gave a suggestion to her comrades, re-winding her bow as she did.  
"Let's make it a sport. Whoever dies fighting him will be replaced by the living ones. Last one alive gets all the money. How's that?"  
The remaining members nodded, and threw their money at the floor, signifying their acceptance of the bet.

Rothius, on the other hand, reversed his grip on his blade, and dashed through the projectiles being launched towards him.  
Slowly closing the distance between him and his enemies, his desire to kill bloomed even more that it seemed to fill the entire throne room up to the ceiling.  
Grabbing the Lunar Knight to his immediate left, he rammed his blade through the body, and ran his blade up, splitting him from abdomen to scalp.  
Stabbing the blade to the ground, he held the corpse by the arms and ripped it further, to two pieces.  
He grabbed the heart from the body and ate it in front of the remaining Lunar Knight, his eyes glowing red.  
Rothius' phantom arms grabbed him by the neck and ankles, while the remaining arm ripped the arms off, one at a time.  
Bleeding from the stumps of his arms, he could feel his life drain away.  
Rothius grinned, and moved his prey closer to take a shower in his enemy's blood.  
Letting out a maniacal yet sad laugh, he could feel his tears flow down his cheeks.  
He was drowning in the Black Dragon's power, yet he enjoyed it.  
That feeling of having so much power that he had just set loose was too intoxicating, it was driving him beyond insane.  
He could feel his body move faster, faster, more fluid.  
Each drop of blood falling on him felt too good, too enticing to feel more.  
He couldn't care less about how it could make him sink even lower than he already had at that point.  
2 Snipers went down as soon as the last Lunar Knight's body had fallen down, their bows at the ready.

Rothius couldn't have felt happier the moment he realized that he was going to fight and murder all of them.  
Throwing the ripped corpse aside, he removed his helm and tossed it aside.  
He removed the armor on his abdomen, arms, and head, along with his gauntlet.  
Changes were already visible on his body, from his abdomen to his hair..  
They were starting to turn gray, and two small horns were already growing on his forehead.  
Fangs in his mouth became more pronounced, and his pupils had turned red.  
A red tongue licked the seemingly-dry lips, and darkened gums that held the fangs in place showed themselves in a dark, insane smile.  
His body seemed to be a lot more muscular than it was before, and his birthmark seemed to be glowing, with the phantom arms rooted on it.  
His nails have already darkened and became talons seemingly sharp enough to tear someone's flesh.  
Picking up the blade off the ground, he tossed it towards the throne, where it landed adjacent to Teluna's severed head, seemingly blocking from seeing the carnage that would soon unleash itself in the room.  
A volley of arrows hit his body as soon as his smiled, and got knocked down on the floor.  
The Snipers began cheering as they kicked him as he lay on the ground, not even moving.  
One tried to shoot another to his head, but Rothius caught it in between his teeth, and spat it aside.  
Standing up, his own muscles pushed the arrows out of his skin, his red blood seeping from the wounds.  
Shaking the blood off him, he readied his talons for the next battle.  
A Sniper shot one at him aimed towards his forehead, but he caught it with the tips of his thumb, index and middle fingers, and threw it back at her.  
The other one countered it with another arrow, and both fell to the ground, blades-first.  
Letting out a low laugh, Rothius taunted his enemies as he gazed at them.  
Both notched their arrows and readied themselves, but Rothius had already closed the distance to one.  
He slapped the bow and arrow away from her hands, grabbed her breasts, ripped them off, and ate them in front of the now-dying Sniper as she convulsed in pain.  
It was more than enough to make the other Sniper vomit where she stood, the scene too grotesque for her eyes.  
"**Can't look, eh?**"  
As she looked up, Rothius thrust his left index and middle fingers into her eyes, digging deep into her head, his knuckles almost reaching her forehead.  
He curled his fingers and pulled her skull out with a powerful yank, ripping muscle and tissue.  
Tossing the skull aside as the body fell down, Rothius licked his fingers, a satisfied smile on his face.  
"**Yum.**"  
The Ice Witch jumped in next.  
"I'll be your next opponent."  
Rothius let out a mad cackle, his back arched backwards.  
"Magic against magic. Let us see what you witches are really capable of."  
In a flash, he dashed forward and punched her away.  
She struggled to stand up, but her body was engulfed in black flames as soon as she got a steady footing, but was able to retaliate by shooting a large ice needle.  
Impaling Rothius' left arm, it did nothing to lower his right.  
Burning her clothes off, Rothius grabbed her by the neck.  
"Always looking like that, you're asking for it way too much!"  
He brought her close and licked the middle of her breasts, tracing his tongue towards her navel.  
Breaking the icicle that pierced his left arm, he teased her womanhood with his left index and middle fingers, thoroughly stimulating her.  
She felt desire well up in her, even though she knew her comrades were watching.  
Suddenly sliding his fingers inside her, she let out a scream as his nails tore through her hymen.  
"Never thought one such as you were virgins. But pain, on its own, can become a form of pleasure, no?"  
He twisted his fingers inside her, slowly, teasingly.  
Her moans of pleasure turned to a painful shriek as Rothius rammed his entire fist inside her.  
"**OPEEEEEEEEEEN WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE!**"  
He kept inserting inside her until he could feel the entrance to her womb.  
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the combined pain and pleasure making her go insane.  
Fluids seeped down Rothius' arm as he opened and closed his fist inside of her, his talons lightly touching the walls of her insides.  
"**This is my mercy. You die in utmost pleasure!**"  
Rothius closed his fist as he pushed into her womb, opening his hands, and ripped it out, while his other hand snapped her neck.  
Pulling his left hand out of her, he tossed her lightly upwards and punched the top of her head and jaw off with both of his hands.  
"**I lied. Give the devil my regards.**"  
He ripped her body in half with a spinning kick, and crushed what was left of her head with a powerful clap.  
"**For those who killed my wife, you bastards deserve utmost mercilessness. Both of you, step forth, and keep me entertained!**"  
The Pyromancer and the Inquisitor did as they were told, their weapons at the ready.  
Rothius cackled madly once again, the Black Dragon's aura covering him as his eyes glowed evilly through it.

"**LET'S BEGIN THE GRIM REAPER'S FESTIVAL! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**"  
He dashed towards his enemies, claws at the ready, madly laughing as his bloodshot eyes gazed with equal insanity towards them.  
"**YOUGODFUCKINGDAMNEDEYESORESBETTERHAVEPRAYEDBECAUSE I'LLRIPYOURHEADSOFFANDRAPEYOUREYESOCKETSANDNOSTRIL SYOUDAMNMURDEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERS!**"  
"Tch, he's lost it! He's like a wild mad beast!"  
The Inquisitor swung his flail towards Rothius, who caught and crushed the extension with his teeth.  
The Pyromancer bathed him in flames right out of her staff, and a phantom arm yanked it off her hands.  
Rothius took it from the phantom arm, and broke it in half.  
Another mad cackle escaped from him as he grabbed the Inquisitor by the neck.  
Tossing him upward, Rothius jumped after him and began showering his body with punches using the phantom arms.  
Each hit felt like it was crushing his bones and rupturing his organs.  
The impact was more than enough to rupture organs and bones, causing them to pull and rip themselves apart, spilling his guts mid-air in a bloody shower.  
Landing on the floor, not minding the blood and gore raining everywhere, Rothius slowly walked towards the Pyromancer, a grim smile on his face.  
The Pyromancer grabbed the staff left by the Ice Witch, and sent another, more powerful jet of flames blowing towards Rothius, completely enveloping him.  
The smell of burnt flesh and fried blood permeated the air, but the frightening figure didn't stop moving towards her.  
A low laugh escaped his lips and he walked straight towards his target, never minding the flames licking all over his body.  
His eyes, who previously glowed red, now shone with a bright white light.  
"**You won't live to see the sunrise. I wonder. . . WHAT'S THE COLOR OF YOUR BLOOD!**"  
With a blast of energy, the flames jumped off his body, his burnt flesh flaking off with a new layer underneath.  
Rothius swiped his fingers across her face, seemingly missing it by a few centimeters.  
To her horror, a large strip of her face's skin fell off with a weak splat on the ground, leaving only a thin layer of skin between blood vessels and her nose's cartilage.  
He stabbed both thumbs deep inside her eye sockets, deep enough to reach the base.  
Her painful screams were like music to his ears while he ripped her head off, and kicked it away.

Panting and feeling his sanity flood back, he looked at the carnage he had done as he wore his armor.  
"**If this is what humanity can do at its worst, then. . .**"  
Red tears of blood flowed from his eyes as the phantom arms slowly dissipated to black smoke.  
"**. . . I RENOUNCE MY HUMANITY! I WILL BECOME THE NEW BLACK DRAGON!**"  
The Dragon itself laughed within his head.  
"**Well said, kid. Very well, take all of my powers!**"  
Upon ending that sentence, his body began changing.  
His hair turned gray, and his eyes have reversed their colors.  
The whites have turned black as night, and his once-blue irises had turned red as blood.  
A burning sensation was felt in his chest, making him vomit his blood out as he tore his armor off.  
His fangs pronounced themselves, and an eye had opened in the middle of his chest, its features the same as his eyes.  
The full intake of the Black Dragon's powers had woken something primal within him.  
An urge to cause chaos and destruction as his heart filled itself with every negative emotion known and unknown to man, and how it stopped beating.  
Coldness flooded his body as he fell on his knees, clutching his own freezing body.  
Nails black as charcoal grew sharper as the flesh on his two forearms grew metallic gray scales, right below his elbow to his fingertips.  
He sobbed as red blood drained out of his eyes, and black blood replaced it.  
"**. . . Is this the mankind I had protected all these years? Had it been for naught!?**"  
He looked towards the ceiling as if calling to a god, any god that would listen to him.  
"**If this is what humanity really is, are they not different from the monsters they so fear and loathe!?**"  
Deep inside his still heart, he wanted answers for the questions raging in his mind.

The urge was simply too great for him to stop himself.  
Letting out a sad inhuman roar which echoed throughout the Dark Elf's kingdom, Rothius cried out what he thought was the last piece of his humanity.  
"**. . . All is lost. Everything I once had, even my beloved wife. The price was too steep for this power. IF NOT FOR THIS DAMN POWER!**"  
Picking up his wife's corpse, he rested it on her throne, with the severed head sitting on its lap.  
Her burial in mind, he cremated her corpse with a large stream of black flames from his hands, burning her corpse and throne to ashes.  
Leaving the sword that was loaned to him in the place where the throne once stood, he turned his back and walked away.  
"**Rest well, my love. Rest knowing my final act of humanity is your burial.**"  
He began to wear his armor up to the helm, and afterwards walked slowly out of the castle, his head hung low in grief, emptiness, and self-loathing.  
Throwing a ripped red tapestry around his body to serve as a cloak, he spread his wings and flew out.  
"**Rest in peace, Teluna. Farewell, my humanity.**"  
Little did he know that Liss was watching in the distance, holding an infant Serina in her arms.  
"My lord, I will raise your daughter well."

His eyes popped open, and went outside to see the sun on its peak, with Alurrie and Seleece finishing their chat.  
Looking at the distance, he saw a familiar port, the one in the village of his long-time allies, Nickolaus and Lars.  
"**Alurrie! Seleece! Once we set foot in there. . .**"  
The two looked at him, smiles on their faces.  
Raising his right hand with the thumb upright, Rothius grinned.  
"**. . . It's time for Hell on Lagendia.**"  
As he ended that sentence, he brought his thumb down.


	3. Chapter 3 : The Fairy Of The Battlefield

Sometime during Rothius' nap, Alurrie had struck a conversation with Seleece.  
"Miss Seleece, I see you have some explanations to do."  
Seleece put her cannon in an empty box onboard, and sat down next to her.  
"You have to explain a few details as well, Lady Alurrie."  
Alurrie removed her hair ties, and let her hair down.  
"Very well, I'll start from the time Rothius had supposedly betrayed the 2nd-Generation 6 Heroes. It started the moment he ripped off the Black Dragon's Lustre from Velskud."

* * *

15 Years ago, Cliffland.

* * *

Rothius had ripped off the Black Dragon's Lustre from Velskud's body after cutting his torso to near half.  
"I've taken it!"  
At the moment when his feet had touched the ground, the Black Dragon's power had enveloped him.  
It felt as though he something had returned to him, like something missing had been found.  
The Black Dragon's conscience had driven his desire to kill to near-unbearable.  
Saladin had brought out his blade and pointed at Rothius.  
"Are you still our ally, or have you turned your back towards mankind?"  
Only Alurrie knew of Rothius' suicidal plan that time.  
Steal the Black Dragon's Lustre, and kill himself with it, after seemingly betraying the Six Heroes.  
Rothius wore it around his neck, much to the surprise of everyone.  
"Why don'y you attack me to find out, Saladin? You were the one who clearly didn't want my presence in this group."  
Saladin attacked in response, jumping in the air and sent 4 air slashes towards him.  
"Answer me, Rothius! Have you become an enemy of mankind or still our ally!?"  
He got his reply in the form of Rothius breaking his aerial attack with a ground-based form of his attack.  
"An enemy of mankind, eh? Very well. Prepare to die!"  
They all charged in, with Alurrie and Ami in the rear, with the former's face in tears.

She remembered how Rothius had called her out of the campfire and somewhere near the river with a lone tree near its bank.  
As they walked there, she saw his sad face illuminated by the full moon, tears streaming down his face.  
"So. . . What's wrong? You need something from me?"  
The response was almost instantaneous, too sudden.  
Rothius gave her an almost-unbelievable warm hug, despite the tears in his face.  
"I'll confide in you, since I trust you more than anyone else in our group."  
She replied by resting her head on his chest, and hugging him back, her hands touching his bare back.  
"It would be severely misunderstood if someone were to see us."  
Rothius' eyes widened in surprise as he admitted that he didn't know why.  
"Why are you always half-naked at camp?"  
"Well, the armor's pretty stuffy, the one provided by the King's army. It's hot to always wear. And you're pretty well-covered for a Sorceress."  
"I'm different from the others."  
Alurrie laughed as she broke away from Rothius' arms, and sat near the water while Rothius jumped into the water, even while wearing the lower parts of that white armor.  
"Perhaps, I could be the only one you ever considered a friend, eh?"  
Rothius's head popped up from the water and nodded.  
She noticed something was happening underwater.  
"C'mon, you think I wouldn't know something's happening there?"  
Rothius stood up and showed a fish in between his teeth and two more in each hand.  
"Ugh, this is why everyone calls you a dumbass off the battlefield."  
"Really now? I didn't know."  
Alurrie slapped her right palm on her forehead in dismay.  
"Goodness, how did you manage to get married ahead of us if you're this dumb?"  
"I got married because Teluna and I love each other, that's why!"  
"Well, at least you got some concepts of humanity down. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"  
Rothius got out of the water tossed the fish to the bank, while Alurrie made a small fire.  
"I have an idea how to seal the Black Dragon forever, but I need you to keep it a secret to everyone."  
Her eyes widened as Rothius' face turned from cheerful to solid.  
"I'll kill myself after obtaining the Black Dragon Lustre."  
"What!? But wouldn't that mean leaving behind your wife and everyone else behind!?"  
"I've made my decision. If my death can mean the survival of humanity, then so be it."  
"And I thought 'he' was suicidal, you're the epitome of it."  
"Here's the tricky part. I need to use its power to escape."  
". . . And find a place to kill yourself along with it."  
"Exactly. I have located an old tower that used to be a prison not far from here."  
"That seems way too convenient, but a convenience in your favor nonetheless."  
Rothius nodded, and picked up two well-cooked fished from the fire and handed one to Alurrie.  
"The last meal we might share as allies. Savor it."  
Alurrie nodded, and began eating.  
Rothius took out a loaf of bread and half a wheel of cheese from a small bag he had hidden beforehand in a hollow on the tree.  
"You sure eat a lot."  
"Well, we only go around once, so live with great gusto."  
They ate in silence, enjoying the calm before the storm as the sun rose above them.

And on that day, the battlefield had chaos never before wrought as Rothius and Saladin led the charge, the Shooting Star and her Alfredo handled the middle, with Ami, Stormgrace, and Alurrie handling the rear.  
Tearing through gate after gate with greater speed, it was a fight that mattered the most to them.  
For Saladin, to fight for his remaining family, his sister and soon-to-be-born nephew.  
For Stormgrace, to fight for his own ends and purposes.  
For Ami, the Elves' Kingdom and her newly-born daughter.  
For Alurrie, to go back to her hometown and get married to her fiancee.  
For the Shooting Star, to fulfill her mission.  
And for Rothius, to seal the Black Dragon's powers once and for all.  
For the remaining five, they didn't know how or why, but Rothius seemed much more powerful that day.  
And Velskud didn't notice the Lustre to be reacting to Rothius' presence, it's power leaking towards him.  
Running towards the heart of that quickly-made citadel, Rothius encountered a Chaos Hero, one made in his image, along with others that were copied from his allies.

"Well, isn't that nice? At least I get to practice killing myself this time!"  
He charged in and clashed swords with his copy, as the 5 others stepped backwards, apparently designed to fight the ones they are copied from.  
The two fought with dance-like precision, sparks flying from each time their blades met.  
Each blow Rothius gave was well-countered, a falling slash was countered with a rising one, and a punch was countered the same way.  
Upon impact, Alurrie blasted the closed gate apart with a large ball of rock and lava, and made it rain icicles as she entered.  
Her Chaos Hero copy stepped forward as Alurrie stabbed her staff to the ground, and readied one of her personalized spells.  
"Phoenix;Gatling!"  
A revolving wheel with 9 barrels revolved in front of her, each one shooting out a rapid stream of fireballs.  
The copy tried to mimic it, to little success, setting itself on fire mostly as only 3 barrels manifested, unable to control such a spell.  
"Scylla;Prison!"  
Ice crystals formed around her copy's ankles and legs, then stuck themselves on the legs, keeping it immobile, still creeping from the legs up to its lower torso.  
Seeing her chance as soon as vapor began leaking out of her copy's body, Alurrie readied her last spell for the battle.  
"Let's get shaking! Helios;Cannon!"  
3 Magic Circles lined themselves up in fron of her, and shot a wide beam of light which burned her copy until nothing is left.  
Using this chance, Rothius grabbed his copy and tossed it in the beam, melting its lower half off.  
The upper half crawled towards him, and it met Rothius' armored boot, causing it to disintegrate to dust.  
A cripplingly-strong beat of his heart knocked Rothius down on one knee, and gasping for breath.  
Hurrying to her ally's side, Alurrie helped him up and nodded at him as the remaining 4 arrived and fought their copies.  
Rothius saw this opportunity, and readied himself to fight again, a determined look on his face as he sheathed his blade and cracked his knuckles.  
Alurrie pulled her staff out of the ground, and wiped the sweat from her brow as her hair danced with the wind and readied herself.  
Giving Rothius an assuring nod, they both charged to help their allies.  
Alurrie headed towards Ami and Saladin, while Rothius casually walked towards the Shooting Star and Stormgrace, who were fighting with their copies.  
Kicking up a stone and launching it towards the Shooting Star's copy, and punched it aside.  
The Shooting Star readied her cannon, and fired three shots to her copy, pushing it near the edge.  
Stormgrace pushed his copy off the edge with 2 strong bashes from his shield, while the Shooting Star charged in while reloading her cannon.  
Pressing it against the copy's abdomen, she let the special bullet heat up.  
Rothius threw 2 knives at its feet so it wouldn't move anywhere, and headed towards Alurrie and the others.  
Alurrie thrust her staff into the body of Ami's copy, and burnt it with a cross-shaped flame spell while Ami kicked it again and again, with increasing speed.  
It took about 98 hits to disperse that copy, which exploded as the last hit landed, leaving behind only a charred mark on the ground.  
Saladin's copy was as tough as the original, both throwing their attacks at each other with the same speed and accuracy, their attacks creating a large boom of wind each time they clash.  
Alurrie tossed a fireball which functioned as a grenade which threw Saladin and his copy off their feet.  
Rothius ran his blade through the copy's body as soon as it landed, causing it to disperse.  
"Hmph. Waste of time. Let's go!"  
Stormgrace grabbed Rothius' armor's neckplates and brought his face close.  
"Do you plan to go on an all-out rampage again? By God, I swear your bloodlust is ingrained to your every fiber. Well, as long as it ends this war."  
Turning to their comrades, Stormgrace motioned for them to hurry.  
Saladin placed his sword on the sheath on his back, and made his neck bones pop.  
Ami readied her bow and tied her hair with a light pink ribbon.  
Alurrie patted Ami by the waist and placed her hand on Ami's womb.  
"Don't overexert yourself, you've just given birth."  
"If I die in this battle, take care of my child."  
"Live, and take care of her yourself."  
They both walked forward, catching up to the Shooting Star who was silent as usual, adjusting her glasses as she walked, a grim expression on her face.  
A small voice piped up as the three walked side by side.  
"Um. . . I noticed Lady Ami's stomach had really flattened after she gave birth to Noa."  
Both looked at the Shooting Star, whose grim expression turned to a smile.  
"Lady Alurrie's right, live and take care of her yourself. Oh, and don't tell the guys that I just talked."  
The two of them nodded, and followed the three men who were occupied with breaking the last gate.  
Alurrie, Ami, and the Shooting Star broke the gates faster than them, and all six went in together.  
"And as usual, I won't tell my name no matter what!"

And the rest was a haze of attacks that followed after weapons were drawn.  
The curtain rose to the prelude of a new nightmare, one that was worse than Velskud's tragedy.  
"I repeat, HAVE YOU TURNED YOUR BACK ON MANKIND, ROTHIUS!?"  
Rothius grinned a dark one, so different from the usual sunny smile he once wore.  
"Try attacking me to find out."  
Saladin sent a wave of power sent from the tip of his blade towards Rothius, who in turn caught it by the palm of his hand, and crushed it.  
"And there you have your answer."  
Throwing caution to the wind and his blade at the ready, Saladin dashed forward to do battle.  
"Halfmoon Slash!"  
The attack had been barely charged when Rothius closed the distance, and using Velskud's sword, he left a deep wound in Saladin's body with a diagonal cut.  
Saladin felt a kick which sent him flying as he felt his life fade away and the light disappear from his eyes."  
"Hen. . . ri. . ."  
Ami charged in next, firing arrows as she ran towards Rothius, tears flooding out of her eyes.  
"Why!? Why would you repeat a tragedy like Velskud did!?"  
Rothius deflected the arrows with the blade, and dashed in, continuing to deflect the arrows flying towards him."  
"Like you'd understand, Elf! You and your damned long lives!"  
She jumped over Rothius' head, trying to give herself an advantage, but met her end being impaled by Rothius' blade.  
From a distance, no one could notice the teardrop that fell from Rothius' eye, and his low-voiced words as he threw Ami's corpse from the blade.  
"Tch, another life lost. Forgive me, daughter of Ami!"  
The Shooting Star aimed her cannon and tried to get a clean shot while Alurrie charged in, flames flying out of her staff.  
Grabbing Alurrie and faking a mad laugh, he whispered as soon as that laugh ended.  
"Forgive me, this is the least I can do to make sure you survive."  
She nodded as she pretended to struggle.  
Using her as a meat shield for the bubble shot, he tossed her off the cliff with a mid-air dropkick, sending her further off, making sure she falls to the river.  
And that was the last time she saw from him as she fell to the river, shedding tears for the sacrifice and the pain she knew Rothius felt at that moment.  
She was found by fishermen in the lake at the base of the way leading to Cliffland, a few kilometers off Saint Haven.

Last news she heard about them was that everyone save Stormgrace survived, and was made Bishop.  
And that Rothius had locked himself up in a tower and tried for months to kill himself using the tools left there.  
With the report saying that he went missing after using the machine notoriously known as the "Separator", a multi-blade guillotine reserved for the most evil of villains.  
Spending a week poring through Kasarana's old notes, she read through the volumes in the bookshelves hidden behind the normal shelf.  
"So that's how. . . The secret to attaining the "True Power Of Fairystar" surpasses not just mastery of the basic to advanced techniques of the four elements, and various forces, but the fifth and sixth elements, Space and Time as well!"  
Cidel was busy with his duties that he didn't even notice his senior arrive and leave.  
Once outside, she looked at the gray sky, and admired her engagement ring.  
"Perhaps, I should visit 'his' place today. It has been five months since I visited 'him' before I go on a training journey."  
With a smile on her face, she threw her cloak on and walked towards 'his' village.  
Nickolaus' village, the man she was engaged to from an old promise between the other's masters.  
The Borderland Barbarian Village Chief, Nickolaus, known for his ferocity in battle and humane ways with allies.  
Primary evidence was the executioner-priest Lars, known as 'Angelic Killer' for his brutality in battle, who left the clergy when Stormgrace's rule as Bishop began and went on his own way, was welcomed with no resistance and amazing hospitality.  
Not to mention the ten Kalis he had rescued from meat hunters planning to sell them to brothels in the slums, and welcomed them to his family.  
Orphaned at a your age, and raised by a Barbarian who taught him how to fight and live, and filled him with the will to live.  
She liked that about him, even when they were kids who barely understood the concept of love.  
Even from the time they parted ways as children, they continued to write letters to each other, even during the years she spent under Kasarana's strict supervision as she trained.  
Perhaps, she saw a part of Nick in Rothius, both their caring personality and natural kindness, no matter how wounded, scarred, and injured they get.  
But Rothius had a lot of differences between him and Nickolaus, and that troubled her.  
He possessed no remorse when killing, he rarely showed emotion save a grim determination in battle, and a sad pair of eyes, almost crying.  
And that scar-like birthmark that got her interest, how odd it seemed for it to look like a darkened scar from an old slash wound.  
Plus the way they handled their weapons.  
Nickolaus gripped his axe in one hand, despite its size and weight, while Rothius uses his blade usually with a reverse-grip.  
The size also mattered, since Nick used an axe twice as large as the usual, its weight four times heavier, while Rothius evidently preferred lighter weapons, his blades thinner and lighter, but sharper.

Using warp station after warp station, she arrived at the outskirts of his village.  
Finding the well-hidden entrance to Nickolaus' basement, she grinned as she opened the hatch.  
"I guess he's already sniffed me out by this point, but might as well drop by for a surprise visit!"  
Making sure the hatch was closed firmly above her, she began walking down the lantern-lit path towards Nick's basement.  
She stayed behind the door towards it when she heard Nick's and Lars' voices, with another, familiar voice talking with them.  
A voice she had not heard for five months, a friend she grew to love like family.  
Letting out a weak giggle, she smiled as tears flowed down from her face.  
"He hasn't changed one bit. Still possessing that paper-thin conscience, that idiot."

"Isn't that so, Lady Alurrie?"  
That question prompted her to open the trapdoor, and she threw off her cloak.  
Conversations between her, Nick, and Lars quickly passed the time.  
Sitting next to the sleeping Rothius, she traced a finger across his face.  
"You really are a bad liar, eh, Rothius? It must've been a large burden on your conscience."  
Putting her hood back, she headed towards the trapdoor, but not after slipping a handkerchief with a faint trace of her perfume and a kiss mark on it to Nick's lap, and the other hid it quickly.  
"Well, I shall resume my journey."  
Nick nodded, and smiled at her.  
She winked back and whispered something to him.  
"Please, stay alive, my love."  
Going outside the same way she went out, she made sure the hatch was covered in mud to hide it again.  
Wearing the hood, she wiped the last teardrop from her chin, and walked forward to the first stop of her journey, the Fairystar Tower.  
"There might be more notes that Lady Kasarana had left behind."  
"I might spend some time there practicing on the fifth and sixth elements, Time and Space."  
"It's still too early for me and Nick to get married."  
"Nick's smile was still the same. The warmth and calm it gives my heart every time. . ."  
She walked until she reached Lotus Marsh, and boarded an airship headed for Mana Ridge.  
It was bound to stop near the forest where the old Fairystar Tower is located.  
As the ship flew, she looked down at the old town, and received a vision of a probable future, or possibly a .

In it was a sea of flames and corpses.  
The sky was blotted out by smoke.  
A dark, clawed figure with glowing red eyes stood above a large pile of corpses, its fanged mouth gaping open.  
Its howls were beyond inhuman.  
It was a hellbeast's howl, ripe with all the negative emotions known and yet to be known.  
And on the top, four corpses stood out.  
Nickolaus' body, ripped apart.  
Lars' corpse, impaled with large, black talons.  
Stormgrace's crucified and flayed body, save the face.  
And her own, impaled by the figure's claws.  
The figure turned, revealing Rothius' face, half of its facial flesh off, the Black Dragon's face barely illuminated.  
Regaining control of herself, she slapped her cheeks twice and looked towards the sky.  
An oath rang in her heart and mind, her determination growing bigger that it seemed to fill her heart along with the love she had for her fiance.  
Her hand curled itself to a fist, clearly shaking from the pressure.

"Such a sad outcome. I'll do everything in my power to stop it!"


	4. Chapter 4 : Her Satisfaction In Life

Looking at the horizon, the setting sun behind her, she saw the old Fairystar Tower.  
Making sure no one saw her, she jumped off the edge, and materialized a magic circle sturdy enough to fly there.  
Alurrie traced her eyes across the tower, and feeling no life from it, she sped forward, the wind whipping her.  
In a few minutes, she reached it and entered using a window from the highest floor.  
Spotting a bookshelf to the left, she instictively looked at its surroundings, ensuring no traps were active.  
Taking a thick volume, she began reading through it, trying to memorize all of the information in it.  
Using her free hand to take out the black book right next to it, she placed it down on the table and opened it.  
Throwing the book she just read away, she looked inside the black book.  
Inside it were pages of magic circles, and those alone.  
If she weren't Lady Kasarana's protege, she would've let it go.  
Using the tip of her left index finger, she began flowing magic towards the book, and the pages flew out, forming a line of circles.  
The circles began etching the message within them on the wall behind them.  
"Time Magic and Space Magic can only be unlocked to the world when one event has altered the flow of time, heading towards a different conclusion."  
A second line began forming underneath it. written the same way the first line was written.  
"If you are affected, however, check your palm."  
She checked hers, and saw the lines changing.  
"My God. . . What could this mean?"  
A third line left a cryptic message, before the rings separated themselves back to pages and fell to the ground.  
"The source holds the key role, and the curtain rises on destiny's rewritten play towards a new ending."

Alurrie took a step backward in surprise from the revelation, then laughed.  
"So my hunch was true. They have books that can tell me about the last 2 elements!"  
Cleaning the room she was in, she readied it to be her base in the meantime.  
Flushing dust out with a blast of air, she aired the sheets of the bed and readied herself to immersion in finding the information she needed in the old tower's library.  
She was as giddy as a child, excited over what she might learn in the libraries.  
"If memory serves me right, there was a book sorter in the middle of the library, some sort of magic device to search for books easier."  
A loud rumble from her stomach snapped her back from thinking.  
"Well, first things first. Food, bath, then research."  
Finding a rune-marked stone slab beside the room's doorway, she tapped it with her staff and activated it.  
The stone slab began moving while a terminal-like pillar rose from the ground, and uncovered a button on its top.  
Light came from the crystal, flooding the once-dim and quiet tower from top to bottom, magic humming lightly from the crystal.  
Gazing at its splendor, another vision attacked her mind.

It was hazy, but she could feel a large blade pierce her abdomen, and a gauntleted hand slowly crush her skull.  
The hilt touched her torso, one side touching the end of her sternum and the other covering her navel.  
A burning smell filled her nostrils as blood gushed from her mouth.  
She couldn't speak or see, but she could hear the screams of dying monsters around her, along with their generation of 6 Heroes.  
And they weren't in Cliffland, but in a nest, while inhuman roars nearly rendered her deaf.  
Then it dawned on her, that this wasn't Velskud's Black Dragon's Nest.  
It was Rothius' Black Dragon Nest, and they had just failed to kill him.  
How or why the vision suddenly attacked her was unclear to her.  
It ended after she felt the blade being pulled out of her body, returning her to her senses.  
Understanding it as memories of another her in another time, in another space, she stepped on the slab, and it brought her to the level where the kitchen was.

A weak, warm wall of air was there, keeping ingredients as fresh as though it was picked just that morning.  
Even the meats hanging on the hooks were all fresh, like it had just been butchered.  
The silence overwhelmed her as she prepared to cook.  
Placing wood in the furnace, she let loose a thin jet of flames which started the fire.  
Spreading a thin amount of oil over the slanted iron board, she began slicing some ham while waiting for the oil to start sizzling.  
Cutting the end part of a loaf of bread and taking a bite out of it, she began wondering how all of it was kept fresh.  
Locating a staff at each corner, all of them expelling air that kept the room sterilized and extended the food's longevity.  
"These might be the ones keeping the food from spoiling or going stale. Better leave them as they are."  
The oil began sizzling and she threw the slices of ham to the iron board, and fried them.  
Preparing herself some sandwiches, she piled them on a plate and headed back to her makeshift base.

She ate in silence while reading through handpicked volumes from the shelf.  
"Least I could do now is study the possible after-effects of the timestream's change in course, if it DID happen."  
Reading through the book, she noticed a few pages which stood out.  
"Scrap notes. Better include them in leafing through."  
Taking those out of the book, she piled them up as she marked the page she'll go back to after the notes by bending the corner of the page.  
Checking the notes, she immediately recognized it as her master's handwriting, done during her time training here.  
"Time and Space Magic is unstable, and nearly unusable in its current state. However, if one event is strong enough to change the main flow, then the 2 branches of magic might stabilize."  
Letting her hair down, she looked at the other pages.  
"More Magic Circles. Wonder what's recorded."  
Tapping the other four pages with her staff, they floated a few inches from the table, formed a small stack, and stuck themselves to the wall as such.  
A voice recording of Kasarana played.  
"By the time someone plays this, I am long gone."  
"I am recording this to record my findings in Time and Space Magic."  
"In my findings, only an event that alters the timestream can unlock all its potential."  
"Even if you, dear listener, try to hunt down the books where I learned them, you'd learn the same as I did."  
The pages then flew towards her, with one sticking to her forehead, one stuck to each of her palms, and the last stuck itself in between her breasts.

Kasarana's knowledge about all of the time and space manipulation spells flooded to her, invading her mind and body, etching themselves among the skills she already knew.  
Alurrie's brain felt like it was about to explode from the information flow, throbbing painfully.  
The pain was almost enough to make her snap, and every second felt like an hour during the transfer.  
She thrashed about, unable to bear the pain, hands clasping open and closed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.  
Her body felt like electricity ran through it at fast speed, up and down.  
Memory transfer ended faster than it seemed, and she slumped on her chair, gasping for air.  
Regaining proper breath was a bit of a task for her, as she felt her lungs were close to empty.  
Heavily breathing in and out, gasp after gasp, she closed her eyes as she tried to relax.  
"I think I still need to find anything Master Kasarana might have missed, and I'll stay here longer."  
Standing up, she braced herself and turned in for the night, unaware that a crow was watching her as she slept.  
Dropping a letter with a rose inside, it flew away into the night.

7 Years had passed, and she did manage to uncover more secrets than her master did.  
An ancient colosseum underneath the tower and the large, half-dead monster that made its Nest in it.  
She also uncovered the Old Witch Queen's set, a staff made out of gnarled and twisted white monster bone and its partner, an ornate cube, with the monster's soul sealed inside.  
Inanimate machines made for the sole purpose of maintaining and helping were in the tower's core, which she reanimated by linking their cores to the tower's.  
But that morning, an unexpected visitor had arrived.  
It was Lars, who had come to pick her up, with his usual stern look.  
"And what brings you here, Lars?"  
"Nickolaus summons you. Better pack your stuff and get ready to leave."  
"The reason being?"  
"He's grown impatient, without 7 full years of no contact whatsoever-"  
"I was absorbed in my research-"  
"He demands your presence, and I am prepared to bring you there, conscious or otherwise-"  
"You have to understand, Lars, I just can't abandon everything so suddenly-"  
"He's extremely-"  
"Furious?"  
"No. Lonely, and eager to get married."

Alurrie slapped her forehead, and bid Lars welcome in the tower, with the latter marvelling how alive the place seemed.  
In the few minutes that had passed which seemed like a moment, Alurrie came down via the stone slab, clothes collected in one box and her notes in another.  
Slinging her staff on her back holster, and tossing the cube up and down in her left hand, she raised a finger and the two boxes lifted themselves to the air, a few steps behind her.  
"Seeing as I have made my betrothed wait that long, might as well rush going there. You got transportation?"  
Lars pointed outside to a massive Black Horse, twice as large as a normal horse, with blood-red eyes.  
"Any news concerning Rothius?"  
Lars' frown deepened, a sign of something bad.  
"He has fallen. Became the new Black Dragon completely. Knows no friend, only foes. Or so the knights and Clergy say."  
"Has he attacked anything so far?"  
"None, only those who dared attack him, mostly the Holy Order who seeks his head."  
A sharp pain hit her head, and she screamed in pain, her palms stuck close to her temples.

Within the throbbing red in her mind, she saw a vision.  
In a barren wasteland, with corpses of soldiers, warriors, sorceresses, clerics, archers, academics, and monsters, all messily piled up around, two figures stood in the middle.  
A fiercely-blazing red aura wrapped a black figure, while the white figure had a blue aura, burning like the red one.  
Both figures stretched out an arm, with something shining in their hands.  
The light was almost blinding, yet found herself unable to close her eyes, both black and white swirling in a massive tornado in front of her.  
And amidst the mixing light and dark, 2 previously-unseen dragons stood where the combatants had been.  
A black dragon with 12 wings and 3 heads stood on front of a silver-and-gold dragon, which had the same amount of wings, but had only 1 head.  
Deafening roars rang in her ears, nearly making her eardrums explode.  
A sea of flames filled the area far beyond what she could see after the black and white light subsided.  
Amidst it all, two human-sized figures were where the two dragons had been, wielding swords which seemed to have been pulled out from the flames.  
Out of the black figure, words issued out of its mouth.  
"First Release! Sorrowful Tears Of The Impartial Judge!"  
The white figure followed suit, and uttered as well.  
"First Release! Mad Tears Of The Ruthless Tyrant!"  
A curtain of bullets flew everywhere as the two fully extended their arms, each hitting their counterpart with perfect accuracy.  
Both attacked at the same time, and an explosion was seen, blacking her out.

Her body limped down, and Lars caught her with one arm.  
"What happened?"  
"A vision. No big deal, it happens from time to time."  
"Visions? Of what?"  
"POssible futures. Did you not feel a sudden shift years ago?"  
Lars swallowed, his face grim and still in thought.  
He slowly nodded, his eyes looking straight to hers.  
"Years ago, an event broke the flow of time. The world itself changed to accomodate the new direction our fates took."  
Slowly lifting her and hoisting her over his shoulder, he walked out of the tower.  
As soon as he was a good distance away from the main door, the tower shut itself down.  
Summoning the second horse via its medal, he placed Alurrie over it while he sat on his, her levitating cargo following her.  
With a loud shout from Lars, the horses reared and began galloping towards Nick's village.

As soon as they were in a safe distance, the tower crumbled to the ground.  
"Just like a demon's castle when the battle's over, and the maiden is saved, eh?"  
On the way, they were blocked by a small platoon of Orcs.  
"Tch. Bastards."  
Triggering a switch on his mace, it became a long whip, its chains spiked.  
"Let's dance, foul beasts."  
The orcs roared at him and charged, weapons at the ready.  
Lars readied his whip, and hit the foremost orc leading the charge, each spike on the chain's links biting through its skin, piercing muscle and bone.  
With a strong yank, the chains ripped that orc in pieces and wounded the ones near it.  
The chains snaked their way back into the handle, and Lars let it out again, catching a wounded orc's ankle.  
"I guess letting loose a bit will do."  
Pulling the chain, he used the orc's body as a makeshift impact ball.  
"Come forth!"  
Using the pull of the chain as momentum, he used the orc's body to hit its companions until it stopped making squeals of pain.  
"Dead already?"  
He slammed it hard on the ground, building momentum for it by jumping high and bounce-kicking off a tree.  
Hearing that loud howl of pain, Lars confirmed the orc was just playing dead, and continued his assault.  
The leg where the chain bit looked as if it would tear off at any given moment, blood oozing out where the flesh was punctured.  
The orc's bone began breaking, along with the one where the spikes embedded themselves in both loud and weak snaps.  
An orc tried to sneak up behind Lars, which got its club caught in between the blades of Lars' mace.  
With a jump, he tossed the orc behind him upwards with a kick and sent it crashing down to the ground with the chained orc.  
A loud crash accompanied by the melody of breaking bones and dying moans rang for a few seconds in that old road.  
Lars flicked the whip's switch to the other way, and the chain retracted back to the handle, and jumped back to his horse.  
A loud shout, and the horses moved towards their destination.

In a few hours, they reached the border of Nick's village, the setting sun behind them.  
Nick was at the gate, leaning against the large wooden pillar, his large axe at the opposite.  
"At last, you've arrived. So, how was the trip?"  
Lars jumped off the horse, and tossed its medal at Nick.  
"For mere foals, they sure are fast. I would've preferred the older horses, but hey, whatever gets the job done."  
The two shook hands when Lars was in range, and shared a wide grin.  
Nick snapped, and a tall Kali caught Alurrie as the horse was sucked into the medallion.  
"Take her inside, if you don't mind. Her cargo will follow you on their own.  
With a light bow, the Kali carried the unconscious Alurrie inside.  
Night fell, and she regained consciousness, beside Nick, who was snoring as loud as ever, with a thin trace of drool going down one of his cheeks.  
She sat up, and covered herself with another, warmer blanket.  
Reminiscing about the time she spent with Rothius, she found herself quietly sobbing.  
"He's not here when I need him the most. Tomorrow's my wedding, damn it!"  
As soon as she finished that sentence, as if a heavy-handed chance, a crow as big as a falcon. landed on the open window.  
By instinct, she reached out and held its small head in both her hands.

She saw what had happened to Rothius' wife, his execution of her murderers, and his acceptance of becoming the Black Dragon.  
And now, he's roaming the land, eliminating monsters and humans, alone, with no one to even comfort him.  
His exact location was deep in the Desert Dragon's Nest, devouring the dragon bit by bit.  
And it's quite far, near the edge of Western Lagendia, the Great Desert.  
He was there, in the depths of loneliness and sadness, slowly being driven to the edge of insanity.  
Letting go of the crow, she looked at it, and smiled.  
"I saw everything. You were with him the whole time."  
It cawed, and flew away, towards the midnight sky.  
"So that's why. . . He went away to try and seal himself still. . ."  
Wiping her tears, she gave the moon one last look, and went in Nick's arms, lightly kissing his lips.  
His warmth felt almost different, like the home she had lost years ago.

The following day, their wedding took place.  
She wore that white dress, and Nick, for the first time, wore a formal white suit.  
Lars wore a formal white suit as well, but kept his weapons at hand just in case.  
The ceremony was quick, but the festivities lasted for 3 days.  
And 9 months later, she bore a child.  
A male, which mostly took from his father, but had his mother's hair and eye color, a fierce red.  
The most notable feature was the two moles beneath his lower lip, one near his chin and the other a bit above it.  
One morning, while breastfeeding her baby, she saw a hooded figure outside the village, near a tree.  
Although unsure, she had a feeling that she knew him, a sense of familiarity flooded her.  
The hooded figure threw a knife her way, and she dodged it.  
On that knife's four-sided handle were four words.  
Pulling it out of the wall, she read the words etched to it.  
"Life. Joy. Luck. Strength. It's just like him."  
She tried giving it a comforting smile, but the figure was nowhere to be found.  
And in its place, was a sword, planted where it stood.  
She traced her gaze towards the blue sky, a smile on her face, even as tears flowed down her cheeks.  
"Really, he hasn't changed one bit."

And in the years she spent with her husband and closest friend, all three raised the boy.  
8 years had passed since then, and the boy gained strength, bit by bit.  
As the child of a Sorceress and a Barbarian, it had the abilities of both.  
The child was named Edmond, and was being groomed by his father to succeed him as the next Village Chief, should something ever happen.  
Just as cheerful and laid-back as his father, but sharp-minded and observant like his mother.  
Their peaceful lives had an abrupt pause when the news of Rothius' return to Central Lagendia.  
"This might be bad or good news, depending on the situation of Rothius' mentality."  
Nick, sitting on the mat as usual, one hand on his knee and another fiddling with his axe, furrowed his brows.  
Lars, who was sipping tea while leaning against the wall, rested one hand on the mace on the holster on his waist.  
"Nick, this situation, what's your assessment?"  
A grin formed on Nick's face as he looked at his wife and partner-in-arms.  
"Lars, and Alurrie, if it's Rothius, we can turn the danger around. If it's him, we can convince him, that even all these years, my village is still a safe haven for me."  
Alurrie stood up, and pulled out her staff and cube from the stand.  
"Let me do it, dear. If he still reveres whatever shred of humanity he has, he won't lay a hand on me."  
Nick slightly shifted in his seat, and nodded.  
Lars frowned, but found himself slowly nodding.  
"I leave by nightfall. Take care of little Edmond will you, dear?"  
"I'll see to it he's safe."  
She gave her husband a smile, walked over to him, and gave him a sweet kiss.  
"And may we do have luck on our side."

Nightfall came, and she managed to pinpoint Rothius' location via divination using a map of Saint Haven.  
"Here I go."  
Opening a portal by snapping her fingers, she could feel the heat of battle.  
Nick, Lars, and Edmond saw her off, with Edmond clinging to his father.  
"Take care, Mama!"  
"I will, dearie. Mama will be back by sunrise or the day after tomorrow, OK?"  
Nick went over and kissed her forehead, while Lars gave her a warm pat on the shoulder.  
Wearing the hood of her cloak, she stepped therough the portal, and closed it.

"And that's where you first saw me."  
Seleece lit up a cigar, and opened a flask of whiskey.  
"Hope you don't mind, I need the drink."  
Taking a large swig and a puff of the cigar, Seleece looked at the sky.  
"Then, Rothius does possess humanity within him. That seems to be in our favor."  
Alurrie looked towards the horizon, a light look on her face.  
"Now, it's your turn, Seleece."  
"I'll save it for later, titty lady. We're almost there."  
Seleece pointed to the port, and there it was.  
The port to Nickolaus' village.  
"Finally, I get to meet the two men who had given Rothius his humanity back, eh?"  
And as she finished that sentence, Rothius stepped out of the ship's inside and walked over to the edge of the ship.  
""**Alurrie! Seleece! Once we set foot in there. . .**""  
Rothius stuck his thumb out, and brought it down.  
"**. . . It's time for Hell on Lagendia.**"


	5. Chapter 5 : Grandson Of A Titanic Hero

hat same night when Rothius and Stormgrace fought, two familiar figures were talking in a village in the Lotus Marsh region.  
Nick sat at the mat, drinking as the usual from his favorite, a well-made jade jug from Far Eastern Lagendia.  
Lars winced from the smell of alcohol early that rainy day.  
"Remind me, what were you doing long before we met?"  
Nick laughed, a thin trail of wine falling from his mouth.  
"Well, right now I feel like talking, so grab a mat and listen."  
Lars grabbed the usual mat, a wooden mat, reasonably aged.  
A different beat, a different need, yet their paths crossed.  
"Well, way before I met ya, I was leading this Village."  
"You weren't at the front lines of the war?"  
"I wasn't. Not the kind to be the disposable mongrel of the kingdom."  
"Very good reason. Kingdom's never let anyone's death be honored, save the valiant, or their dogs."  
"Well, I'll go on with it."

17 years ago

Nick was sitting on top of a massive Black Horse, slightly bigger than an elephant, and spared the sky a glance.  
Having been just appointed to take his recently-deceased grandfather's place, he took the role of the Village Chief.  
A month had passed since, but it felt like a week to him.  
Jumping down from the massive horse, he picked up an equally large axe, almost as tall as the gate to his village, its blade large enough to hide two to three cows behind it, with another cow on top, its handle hewn from a towering great oak.  
He wasn't like every other Barbarian with the standard-sized axes.  
He was a part of the wild frontier of East Lagendia, and one of the people you wouldn't want to fight.  
Every Village Chief were known for their lethality, brutality, wild fighting styles, and inhumanly-customed weapons.  
And he was the second most-feared chief in that region, next to his dead grandfather, a survivor of the Great War who had given birth to the original Six Heroes.  
Hell, that man could've been the Seventh Hero.  
Giant of a man, somewhere between seven to eight feet tall, muscular, with long wild hair that reached half of his back.  
And the original owner of that massive axe he used ever since he entered puberty, while the man battled with disease.  
That man had just died a month ago, and passed down his legacy to his diminutive and weak-looking grandson.  
And as just as valiant as his grandfather, just as strong, packed into that five-foot-five frame.  
His father went missing when he was just ten years of age from an expedition to the Far Eastern Region of Lagendia, where his father participated in the civil uprising as a hired warrior.  
The job his father had was that of a soldier of fortune, always going into wars and coming home with large amounts of money.  
Same mold as his dear grandpa, just remove a few scars and add a pair of ever-near-crying eyes, filled to the brim with sorrow.  
His grandfather sanctioned his father as the next-in-line before the man vanished.  
With eyes of fire, he slung that axe over his shoulder, and walked past eleven other horses as large as the one he sat on, each and every one raised by him.

The only thing keeping the fire within his heart was his love for a girl as old as him.  
Alurrie, Kasarana's other protege, and the prettiest he had seen so far.  
More than enough woman to keep his heart ablaze, addling his brain like the best wine he had tasted so far.  
Her smile as warm as sunshine, her touch gentle, her red lips soft as finely-spun cotton.  
Her skin as smooth as fine silk, her smell like flowers, her fingers slim and palm smooth, and more Fair Lady than Seductive Sorceress with how she dressed.  
She was introduced to him by Kasarana in a party hosted by his master, employed by his grandfather since the man's sickness had gotten that far that he's unable to get out of bed.  
The night they met was like any other meeting between a Barbarian and a Sorceress, but they got off to a good start, with them ending up holding hands as they walked back to the hut, a mellow smile on his, a sweet smile on hers.  
Morning after that, they parted ways again, and she left him with a sweet kiss.  
It was both their first kiss, a magical kiss that influenced their masters to allow them to meet every month, from the sixth to the seventh day of the second week.  
Two days they'd spend talking to each other, having fun on their own, discovering love on their own ways.  
They held hands, spent the night in the same room, in each other's arms, a smile on their faces.  
Each innocent kiss, each warm hug, each second spent in the company of the other gave them courage to go on living.  
A small respite from the threshold of war, its tension increasing every month that passed.  
She got close to his heart and he called her a Valkyrie, and in return she called him her personal Barbarian, the only one for her.  
At one point they talked about a Warrior who made waves in the arena, fighting high-risk, high-stakes handicap battles.  
Known for his beyond-furious blue eyes and ruthlessness, an extreme sample of a natural-born warrior.  
He made a name for himself fighting a hundred prisoners in one day, ranging from petty thugs to high-profile contract killers, mercenaries, and even old war criminals.  
Even fighting five fully-mature Manticores on his own with a crudely-made weapon, a large slab of iron, sharpened on one side, a crude handle carved near the edge of the other.  
The way she described it made him feel pity for that Warrior, and how on earth he could slice body parts clean off with that.  
That following morning where they parted ways again made him think of making a new weapon, parts he could buy from Saint Haven.  
Probably sneak it in the arena, leave it to one of his insiders, then give it to the guy.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he popped some neck bones and stretched a bit.  
Throwing his axe to its holder on a large wagon, he whistled and the horses trotted towards him.  
A villager helped him rein the horses and ready their cargo of cloth, dyes, and underneath it, a large shipment of contraband alcohol and fresh cigars for a dying establishment.  
He's not a smuggler, all the product just were considered contrband by the kingdom, and banned it.  
Ever since a general had been killed by another village chief.  
Since that day, he's been running the family's business.  
Raising horses and selling cloths for padding in armors, for the gentry, for the common folk.  
Life had always been like this.  
Quietly waiting for shipments from Far Eastern Lagendia, shipments of various products, from necessities, food, weapons, armors, alcohol, cigars, to dubious artifacts from ruins everywhere.  
Every week, he had a day or two to deliver the goods, but whatever, it helped put food to his village.  
Nodding at the villager who helped him, he let out a loud shout and the horses dashed forward.  
The marsh that served as his homeland now felt so small, and it instilled a sense of joy in him whenever he did his job.  
This was part of the truce between the Village Chiefs, that only one of them would deal with the Kingdom's demands for extra supplies.

And he was the perfect man for the job, even if he was 2 years shy of being a man.  
In Nickolaus' family, each son was considered a man by the age of 15.  
Even his father, and his grandfather, and so on up to their first ancestor.  
"There it is, the clearing to the underground entrance inside Saint Haven."  
A group of bandits consisting of another Barbarian. older than him, a Lunar Knight, three Snipers, and a Sorceress jumped from the trees down onto his carriage.  
"Ain't nobody passing here without our say-so, laddie. You want to pass, 'ya gotta pay up."  
The Lunar Knight scoffed at the size of Nick's axe.  
"No way this little boy can use this large axe. Let's skin 'im, then get the supplies for ourselves."  
The three Snipers aimed their bows right in front of his face, a grin on their faces. while the Sorceress looked through the stash.  
Nick let go of the horses' reins which was their main bind to the cart.  
The massive horses stayed in their positions save one, the red-eyed.  
Slowly trotting to where his master is, the horse stomped one Sniper to the ground head-first, making it pop like a ripe watermelon being smashed with a large bludgeon.  
Taking this momentary surprise, Nick kicked the Sniper on his left and caught the other's arrow with his index finger and thumb.  
Jumping from his position and nimbly boosting his jump with his axe, he snapped the Lunar Knight's neck by grabbing the head and twisting the head full-force as he landed.  
Cracking his knuckles, he gave the older Barbarian an angry stare as he taunted by motioning him to get closer.  
"What, you scared to fight a little boy hand-to-hand?"  
Taking up a low feral stance taught to him by his master, he put his left foot forward and slightly hunched forward, his fingers slightly clawed.  
The older Barbarian took on a boxer's stance, his arms raised and fists closed.  
"You little brat better put up a good fight. Live or die!"  
Nick dashed forward and grabbed his opponent's head by the hair, and hit the forehead with his own.  
He continued his assault with a palm thrust to the chin, pushing his opponent to the ground and stomped on the man's neck, stunning the man.

The horse on the other hand was stomping at the third Sniper, and it seemed as though enjoying every bit of it.  
Her screams were stifled early by the horse stomping on her abdomen to her neck, the horseshoe covered with blood and bits of gore.  
The Sorceress jumped off the carriage and tried to burn one of the other horses' leg, only to get her head kicked clean off with a loud neigh and a rear kick.  
Nick hoisted the older Barbarian up, pinned him to a tree with two knives using the shoulder of his leather armor, a knife each.  
Giving the man a resounding punch, Nick grinned.  
"Say, what about paying up to pass? You don't recognize me?"  
Loosening his armor, he showed their family crest, burned to the back of his left shoulder.  
"Nickolaus, Village Chief, newly-appointed, of the Fourth Village in this region. The only one with a port."  
A thundering backhand dislocated the older Barbarian's jaw.  
"You whoreson, you're the Titan Barbarian's grandson!"  
Nick walked to his carriage, and picked up his massive axe, and swung it around in a quick show.  
"And my mother's not a whore."  
Cutting that tree in half, along with the old Barbarian, and threw the axe back to its holster.  
A satisfied smile on his face, Nick whistled and the loose horse trotted back to its place.  
Picking up the reins after securing the locks on the horses, he resumed the trip to the entrance.

What awaited him wasn't just his contact.  
Greeting him were some dead guards, their heads impaled on their spears, his contact beside a Warrior with a bandaged face, with only the eyes, a bit of the nose, and his mouth visible.  
Carrying the same weapon Alurrie talked about, a crudely-made blade from an iron slab.  
And appears no older than he is, that Warrior.  
The Warrior jumped towards Nick, blade poised for a strong downwards slash.  
Nick met his new opponent mid-air, axe ready for a from-right horizontal strike.  
Their attacks met dead-center, and both fighters threw their weapons to the ground.  
Both continued to fight with their bodies, the Warrior's mid-air spinning kicks met Nick's punches with great precision.  
A manic smile formed on the Warrior's face, unsettling Nick but not enough to throw him off from attacking.  
Landing on the ground square with Nick landing on his feet and the Warrior on his hands, they continued attacking each other, not one attack connecting.  
The contact whistled, and the Warrior jumped back, picked his weapon up, and stood behind the contact.  
Nick picked his axe up, popped his neck, and slung it over his shoulder.  
He looked like a fierce War God with how large his frown and scowl was.  
The Warrior went on all fours, gripping the blade's handle with his teeth, growling like a wild beast facing a large and very dangerous opponent that can crush it in one move.

Noticing Nick's agitation, he patted him comfortingly on the shoulder while motioning to the Warrior to stand up.  
"One of them Arena Champions, rented him out for five hundred gold coins just for this. Makes the way a lot easier, Sir Nickolaus. Sorry about your late Grandfather and the rude greeting."  
"I appreciate the gesture and all's forgiven, Old Ben. Who's he?"  
"Just as I said, one of them Arena Champions. Won't say his name."  
"I'm willing to give him a bonus. A new weapon. Guy's damn good."  
A low growl answered Nick.  
"What was that, a yes or a no?"  
"I'd take it as a neutral response. Weird fellow, rarely talks, grew up in a poor Gladiatior's family in the slums of downtown Saint Haven."  
The Warrior used the blade's blunt sides as pillow while they took the route to the underground basement of an inn.  
Sliding off the step to reveal the cargo of wine and tobacco, and dropping it off after knocking at the door.  
Taking their original route towards Saint Haven, they sped up the torchlit road.  
A light ahead signified their destination was close.  
Moments later, they entered the city of Saint Haven.  
Inspectors from Customs examined his cargo, while the Warrior jumped off, glared at the officers, and walked towards the direction of the slums.

A few minutes had passed, and they were allowed to pass.  
Nick parked his horses at the stable, then visited each and every one of them to seal them inside medallions.  
"Might as well spend some time in the city. Haven't been here in quite a while."  
Going to the market square, he pulled the carriage on his own going there.  
Old Ben and a few merchants were waiting for him with smiles on their faces, and a bag of money on each of their hands.  
"All orders, all in here. Sorted by name, pick them up then open up shop."  
They formed a line, and started putting the money bags in his hands.  
Carrying the bags to a table, he started counting how much he has earned.  
"250 from this shop, 450 from the other, 1000 gold, 29 silver and 20 copper coins from that shop, 2500 gold from the clergy, and 5000 from the gentry. This should be enough to keep my village alive for a few months to half a year."  
Putting all the money in a larger bag reinforced by metal strips to prevent thieves from taking any.  
Taking some money to Berlin, he placed an order for a customized weapon.  
The handle was large enough for 3 adult hands and made of metal with rings etched to provide better grip with all 3 styles, the blade light and thin with length of 6 feet, without a hilt, and sharp on both sides.  
"Have it delivered to the Arena Champion with the bandaged face."  
"There's none like that here, Sir Nickolaus. Arena combatants always have their faces seen."  
"The one that uses a crude blade made from a slab of iron, then."  
"Oh, that nameless young one? Very well then, it'll be 300 gold, delivery and packaging fee included."  
"Yes, yes. That one. A sheath is included, yes?"  
"It usually costs 5 Gold, but if it's you, I'll throw it in for free."  
"How was his current weapon made, anyway?"  
"He made it using a scrap iron slab I had thrown away, and borrowed my forge. Carved a handle and sharpened one side all on his own."  
"I gave the specifics on the blade to match his fighting style. Large blades like that would slow him down."  
"He has a match this afternoon, you might want to challenge him."  
"How long will it take for his new weapon to be completed?"  
"Long enough for a quick nap with time to spare for registering at the Arena."  
Nick tossed a small bag of money at Berlin, and looked around for a good spot to sleep on.  
Jumping up to the lower roof, Nick lied down and slept.

It was near sundown when he woke up, the completed weapon right beside him.  
Running towards the Arena, he signed up for a special match against that Warrior and picked up his axe.  
Adjusting his armor's straps, along with his helmet, he entered the ring.  
"**AND NOW! A SPECIAL MATCH BETWEEN ONE OF THE ARENA CHAMPIONS VERSUS A SPECIAL COMBATANT!**"  
Nick readied his massive axe with his left hand, and held the blade in his right.  
His opponent entered the ring, unarmored on the abdomen but present on his lower parts.  
A gauntlet wasn't present on his right hand, but only a wrapping of bandages reinforced by metal strips in front of his knuckles and back of the hand.  
And the bandage from his face was gone, his face was one of a darker kind of wrath and cruelty.  
His eyes seemed to have a reddish glow to it, seemingly enhancing his feral nature.  
Nick tossed the blade towards his opponent, which caught it and unsheathed it on one movement.  
"Twin Blades Style to counter mine, eh? Sounds like a good battle!"  
Nick charged in, axe at the ready while his opponent threw the crude blade towards him.  
Deflecting hit and sending it upwards with a swift strike of his axe, he wasn't able to react fast enough to counter the punch he received from his opponent.  
Nick reeled back in pain, but returned the favor with a flurry of spinning kicks hitting his opponent with the last one hitting it so powerfully it sent his opponent flying towards the pillar farthest from them.  
Chasing after his opponent, he left his axe standing on the ground, and performed a flying kick aimed towards his opponent's abdomen.  
His opponent jumped forward and met him mid-air, copying his attack, except executed it in a vertical spin, a small trace of wind visible as his spin became faster and faster.  
Their kicks missed the other by mere centimeters, yet the full force of their attacks hit each other with unerring accuracy.  
The crowd went wild as they heard the sound of the impact and felt the air of their strikes.

Landing ten meters apart and the other's weapon in front of them, they pulled it out at the same time.  
Nick pulled the blade out easily while his opponent lifted his axe.  
Never in his life had Nick found an opponent able to lift his family heirloom, albeit his opponent had a rather hard time swinging it, a full second of delay and tossing himself from side to side.  
When one would think it a disadvantage, Nick's opponent found it an advantage to his part.  
Using the impact of the crash to hoist himself upwards, he caught the crude blade falling down from the sky and readied himself mid-air for a falling slash.  
Nick counted on it, and jumped to meet it midway.  
Stabbing the blade to the ground, Nick used it to boost the speed of his ascent, and caught the blade by enclosing the sharp edge with his palms.  
His opponent grinned, and let go of the blade, and that, in all honesty, Nick didn't count on.  
Both landed on their feet, and the horn signaling the end of the battle rang.  
"**AND THE BATTLE HAS ENDED! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THAT CHAMPION'S CAREER, HE HAS BEEN GIVEN A DRAW!**"  
"Neither hitting the other. Never have I thought it to be possible."  
Nick clapped, and tossed to his opponent his new weapon.  
"You more than deserve it, my friend. Christen it however you want."  
The Warrior picked the crude blade he used before, tossed it upwards, took a hacking stance with his grip on the blade in the reverse, and sliced it to pieces as soon as the tip of one side dropped on the level of his eyes.  
The crowd's roars and cheers drowned them in noise, rendering Nick unable to hear what his opponent told him.  
". . . nks . . . the . . . fight. Nam. . . R. . .s."  
Turning his back, the Warrior walked away, holding his new blade with his right hand and his left thumb raised and sticking out.  
Nick picked his axe up, a satisfied smile on his face, and walked out of the arena.

Renting a room in an inn, he slept soundly after a meal consisting of a cow's roast leg, two loaves of bread, and 10 jugs of wine.  
He readied his carriage as soon as he woke up the day after, and left before the sun rose.  
He was almost ready to go when he heard the scream of a child.  
Leaving his axe to his carriage, he went in an alleyway.  
Ten Kalis, one of them a child, were in a cage beside the back entrance of a brothel.  
Taking out a knife from his waist holster, he threw it right in the eye of the slaver who caught them.  
Casually walking over and taking the keys from the man, he opened the cage, drove the knife deeper, and set the Kalis free, carrying the youngest in his arms.  
"You all better follow me. I'll give you a new lease on life, and accept you in my family."  
The apparent oldest one of them put her hand on his shoulder, a fearful look in her eyes.  
"What can make us trust you?"  
"Ever heard of the Titan Barbarian? I'm his grandson. He saved your village, back in the day."  
"Yes, we remember the great Theodore. Your grandmother was of our village, and we offer our condolences about both of them."  
"Well then, clamber on to the carriage and let's go."  
Summoning his horses out of their medallions, he locked them in place with the reins.  
Handing the youngest Kali, now asleep with a smile on her face to the oldest one, he nodded at her.  
"Alright, everybody get a seat, and we're ready to go!"  
"Everyone's ready, our dear Master."  
A shout and they sped towards the underground path to his village.  
Going through the road fast, they went through the gate and passed through the gate, the guards' bodies now being pecked by crows, a flock of them along with the corpses of the bandits.

As soon as they arrived in the village, the Kalis went down one by one, taking in their new surroundings.  
Nick whistled twice, and the horses went back to their stables.  
The oldest approached Nick, and traced her index finger on his chin, her thumb resting beneath his lower lip.  
"If you'd allow me to be blunt, Master, you look so delicious I could sexually assault you here and now."  
Nick slowly took her hand away, and shot her a glance.  
"Just so you know, I already have a girl I love. From today on, we are family. Allow me to protect all of you as such."  
The oldest Kali laughed, and nodded.  
"Very well then. We are your family from this day forward, starting from me, Elea, to the youngest, Hazirra."  
Nick nodded, and took his axe from the carriage.  
"It's about to rain, best go inside my hut."  
He called it a hut, but it was anything but.  
It was large enough to be called a small mansion, the main house with the east, west and north wings, all having three floors.  
Hazirra woke up in Elea's arms, and jumped down.  
"Auntie Elea, is this man our new master?"  
"Why yes, dearie. He is Master Nickolaus, the grandson of the Titan Barbarian, Lord Theodore. He was there when you were born."  
"Master Nickolaus or Lord Theodore?"  
"Lord Theodore, of course."  
Turning to Nick, Elea asked him about his grandfather's current condition.  
"Sadly, my grandfather's dead due to his disease."  
"'Tis sad news indeed. We offer our condolences, Master Nickolaus."  
"I humbly take it, and in return offer my heartfelt thanks. All of you can inhabit the North Wing, no one yet lives there. Supplies will be brought in soon."  
"Why thank you, Master Nickolaus."

Six days had passed, and Alurrie came to visit again.  
Nick met her in the top floor of the main house, where she sat and furiously glared at him.  
"What's the meaning of this, Village Chief Nickolaus, Grandson of the Titan Barbarian Theodore!?"  
"The meaning of what?"  
"ALL THESE WOMEN, IN YOUR HOUSE!"  
"Oh, I took them in. Just so you know, they were seconds from being sold to a brothel and forced to work as whores."  
"Lies! You already have me, and yet. . . And yet. . . !"  
Nick pushed her to the floor and pinned her with his hands on hers, entwining his fingers with hers.  
Lightly kissing her neck, he felt her ease up, and wrap her thighs around him.  
"I am saving myself until the time I get married."  
Her gaze changed from furious to mellow, a light blush on her cheeks.  
She let go of him, and sat at one corner, facing the wall.  
"Is that so, Nick? Why do I find it very hard to believe?"  
Nick took her left hand, and slipped a ring to the respective finger.  
"Is this proof enough?"  
"Not enough."  
Placing a hand on her waist, he embraced her as tears flowed from her eyes.  
"If I did anything to offend you, I offer my deepest apologies."  
"If you want me to believe you, take it one step further."  
Nick kissed her on her lips, and gently put her on the floor, resting her head on his thigh.

"I want to be your husband someday, Alurrie. When you are more comfortable with the age to get married, that is."  
"My dearest Nick, I would gladly be your wife. However, my training is still insufficient, and my participation in the war is to be expected as Lady Kasarana's protege."  
"Yes, the war. I have decided not to participate in it, with the reason of protecting this region. An agreement with the other village chiefs."  
They looked out the window to the Central Garden, where a statue of Theodore stood.  
"Grandfather would've done the same thing. I know it."  
"I heard something from the city. That Arena Champion vanished."  
Nick's eyes widened in surprise as Alurrie handed him the blade that he gave that Warrior.  
"Last I have heard of him, he left his home to train and that was it. No note as to his destination or anything."  
Nick drew the blade from its sheath, and inspected it.  
Marks from the sharpening wheel peppered the edges, from the base to the tip.  
Dried blood darkened the middle of the blade, imparting it a darker aura which seemed to curse the blade which ended many lives, its hum from swinging sounded like the screams of those which it had been used to kill.  
Putting a silk handkerchief on top of the blade, it got split into two thinner kerchiefs.  
"I knew it, he's more than meets the eye. Within days, he turned this blade to a weapon of mass murder."  
Alurrie shivered at the thought of someone like that, yet felt a slight pull of fate.  
"There is a chance he might appear in the war."  
"Ah yes, the Third Village's chief's son, Saladin. He said he will participate in the war as a Lunar Knight as well."  
"Saladin looks like he'll be the oldest of our crew."  
Nick's eyes widened in surprise at the realization.  
"Don't tell me. . . You've taken your place as one of the new-generation Six Heroes!?"  
Alurrie looked away, as if trying to keep Nick's wrath at bay.  
Holding her arms, a worried look on his face, he looked at her.  
"What if you die?"  
Alurrie closed her eyes, and started crying.  
"Then so be it. If I die, I die. You should live."  
Nick closed his eyes and hung his head.  
"What an unfortunate era we are living in!"  
And at the end of that sentence, he cried silently.

They spent the night quietly, even ate without a sound.  
Staying in their room, they looked at the clear night sky.  
Alurrie rested her head on Nick's shoulder, their fingers entwined.  
"Are you still mad at me, Nickolaus?"  
Nick just quietly kissed her head in response.  
She kissed his cheek in return, and rested her head on his shoulder once again.  
"The sky tonight is beautiful, isn't it?"  
"Yes, my dear Nick. This might be the last silent moment we can ever have, however."  
Alurrie stood up, and took off her clothes.  
"Here, take a good look at my current visage. This may be our last meeting, tomorrow our last parting."  
She took off his clothes as well, and guided him to their shared bed.  
Skin against skin, they held each in their arms.  
And on that night, they shared their first adult kiss.  
Her hands strayed, one holding his cheek and the other on his back, his hands holding her by the waist and left breast.  
Their tongues rubbed together in varying speeds, slow, then fast, then slow again in a primal and carnal dance.  
Sweet moans escaped Alurrie's throat as they went on kissing.  
They continued until they fell asleep, keeping their positions.

And at dawn, she woke up and clothed herself, leaving Nick in the throes of sleep.  
Slipping her cloak on, she slipped away while everyone was still asleep.  
However, Elea was there at the front door, wide awake.  
"Lady Alurrie, do you so wish to participate in the war?"  
Alurrie could only reply with a nod, and ran.  
Standing up, Elea could only close her eyes and utter a wish.  
"May the Gods find you in their favor and live, Lady Alurrie. I wish you all the best."  
Nick woke up hours later, and found himself alone.  
It only served to fuel his resolve to stay and defend their region.  
"If by any chance that Warrior is there to participate, I sure do hope he keeps her safe."  
Looking at his weaponry, an Assay Sword and Gauntlet were missing from them.  
"Looks like she took them, but for what?"  
Little did he know that those weapons would become known as the Hell's Cleaver and the Devil's Hand.  
Wielded by the very same Warrior he had fought that day, given to his hand by none other than his beloved Alurrie as a show of good faith.

And he knew it was already time for the supplies' arrival.  
When he arrived at the port, the supplies were already there.  
Bows and crossbows in one box, swords, axes and hammers in stands, maces, flails and wands in another, staves, grimoires and balls in a bundle.  
Along with the usual cargoes of contraband alcohol and cigars.  
A few villagers and port workers were already loading it to his carriage, and he whistled for his horses, which trotted to their places.  
For Nick, there was no time to waste.  
As soon as the last box was secure in its place, he shouted and the horses sped off towards Saint Haven.  
Entering the clearing yet again, he himself opened the gate.  
Upon the discovery of the killed guards, no one was spared to replace them in protecting that entrance, so manual operation of the gate was imposed to those who wanted to use it.  
As soon as the bars had been raised, he jumped down to his carriage, and went inside the passageway.  
Dropping off the usual cargo of wine and cigars at that inn's underground doorway, he sped up until he reached the market square.  
Everything was duller, yet the prices were higher, making his business go better.  
It continued for a year, a very tense and monotonous year where his life cycled between repelling monsters trying to invade their territory alongside the other village chiefs, delivering the supplies to the Kingdom, and fighting bandits and deserters.  
And honestly, he began taking a liking for hanging them naked by their heels on stakes for others to see.  
Elea alone joined him in the front lines, the other nine stayed at their home to tend to the wounded.

All sense of monotony had been broken when he had found a wild-and-long-haired Crusader wielding a modified mace.  
Two blades from glaives had been attached to its head, turning it to a two-sided murder weapon.  
His armor gave him away as one of high rank among the clergy, with the shining silver mail and pauldrons, greaves, gauntlets and leggings.  
The marking on the left pauldron's sides had given him away as a high-ranking member of the Executioner Division in the Clergy.  
A tall knight wielding a sword and shield confronted this Crusader, and as to why was revealed to him.  
"Angelic Killer! You have been found guilty of deserting the Clergy and the Kingdom, the destruction of the High Prison, and beating high-ranking officers to death with a blacksmith's hammer."  
The Crusader visibly grinned at his opponent.  
"Shut it whoreson, or I'll shove that sword down your right eyesocket and sun-dry you until even the vultures won't even peck at your flesh."  
Nick found a possible ally, and picked up One-Eyed Hugo's massive lance and threw it at the knight.  
The Crusader pulled the lance out and healed the knight, then chopped the testicles off, and healed his enemy yet again.  
"This is the end!"  
Pulling the sword away from the knight's hand, the Crusader pierced his enemy from the right eyesocket and rammed it as far as it could go.  
Nick could only clap in appreciation of the brutality that is happening right before his eyes.  
The Crusader now looked at Nick with the same eyes as he did the knight and slowly approached him.  
"You, yes, you. How dare you take a kill away from me!"  
Dashing in with his shield raised, the Crusader took out another mace, this time with a spearhead on the top and bottom with what seemed to be a miniature switch slightly above the handle.  
"So the rumors were correct, you pluck your victims upon death and revive them only to kill them once more until you are satisfied!"  
Flicking it, the Crusader's mace turned to a whip, its chain as long as four to five of Nick's horses lined up.  
"There's no sense talking, Barbarian! Prepare yourself!"  
Nick readied his fists, and dashed towards what seemed to be his enemy.  
The Crusader's whip headed towards him, seemingly from all directions.  
Nick jumped high to counter it, his right ankle getting caught and bound by the chain.  
Reeling him in, the Crusader prepared to strike, only to get countered by Nick's left foot crashing right to his left temple, sending him flying a few feet backwards.  
The Crusader stood up using both his hands and kicked upwards, fixing his position using a handstand, missing Nick's jaw by half a centimeter.  
Jumping upwards using both hands, the Crusader spun downwards with one foot extended, aiming for Nick's head.  
He countered it by jumping upwards and gracefully spin-kicking diagonally, meeting his opponent mid-air, not minding the chain on his right foot.  
They met in mid-air, with Nick hitting his opponent yet again on the left temple by changing his kick's speed to allow the Crusader to pass by without harming him.  
His opponent crashed to the ground while Nick landed safely on both feet.  
Removing the chain binding his right foot, Nick crossed his arms and looked at his opponent, the very same look he had given to that warrior a year ago.  
Both began showing their auras, both having a white glow to them, but Nick's took on the form of a furious War God's statue, while the Crusader's had the phantom of a benevolent saint, with both palms open.  
"You're too naive. Why did you stop your hand at the finishing blow?"  
"I can ask you the same, Crusader. Why were you fighting with no intent to kill?"

The Crusader slowly sat up, rubbing where he was hit.  
"As expected of the Arhat Sacred Fist, if you had hit me stronger, you would've kicked my head off easily."  
Nick extended his hand and the Crusader took it, using it to help himself stand up.  
"Name's Lars. Guess you might have heard of me by the title they had given me."  
"Yes, the 'Angelic Killer', known for repeatedly executing the criminals that had killed his mother, father, and younger sister."  
"Indeed, and the price for exacting my vengeance had been too high, though I have not been granted excommunication by the Clergy itself, I find myself more at home in your territory. Your name, friend?"  
"Nickolaus, Village Chief of the Fourth Village and yes, Successor to the Arhat Divine Fist, a style that permits only one master, one student."  
"So are the Dubhe and Sirius styles, also known as the Northern War God Fist and the Sacred Hermit Wolf Fist."  
They shared a laugh as if no battle had ever occurred between them moments earlier, and walked back to Nick's village.  
Little did they know that this meeting would set off a year of chaos between humans and monsters.  
A year they would participate in a war that would be known in their region as the Bloody Year or Year Of The Superb Six.


	6. Chapter 6 : One-Year War

Lars laughed, patting his left knee as he did so.  
"Yeah, I remember that from the moment on, but please, do continue. I'd like to know your point of view of me joining your small army."  
Nick handed him another jade jug, filled with his village's finest wine.  
"Well, if that's what you want, my good friend."  
"I'd like to see from your viewpoint the One-Year War, if you'd be so kind as to tell me about it."  
Nick's eyes widened, but never averted his gaze, even as he drank wine.  
"Is Edmond already asleep?"  
"Soundly so, and safely tucked in his bed."  
"Very well then, by all means, I will continue."

* * *

A year into the Second Black Dragon War, Nickolaus and Lars had joined hands in the battle.  
Lars found it surprising that Nick had confiscated all his weaponry; both his maces and his shield.  
Following him into the basement forge in the West Wing, what he saw made his eyes sparkle.  
Modified weaponry of all sorts were there, even spare parts.  
A spiked chain caught his eye, and unconsciously held it.  
"That chain is just the right size for your second mace, but I need to make adjustments on the handle. The reinforcing on this one is almost falling apart."  
Lars couldn't believe what he heard, and took a step back in surprise.  
"Why would you go that far for a person you just recruited?"  
"Why not, when you already signed up for the village chiefs' allied forces? Each and every one of their weapons are all hand-crafted by me."  
Lars felt something in his heart, something he hasn't felt in years.  
Happiness, along with the warmth and urge of calling him a friend.  
"Then do as you see fit, friend."  
"That sounds better, Lars. Or for this war, would you prefer us to refer to each other using our codenames?"  
"Codenames would fit better in this time of war, great Village Chief. I leave my weapons to your care, then."  
Lars sat at the back and began practicing his unarmed combat techniques, from open-palm strikes to various kicks.  
Placing the mace on the working table, and taking out a small bag fulll of Alteums, he began working on the mace.  
Taking it apart, he took the original chain and hung it on the wall, and placed the mechanism on one side.  
"Looks like I'll have to remake this from scratch."  
Taking apart the cloth used to bind the mace's handles, put the parts on the table alongside the other parts, and began heating up the forge.  
Placing two steel bars and a slab in there to heat them, he began cleaning the chain's mechanisms.  
Attaching the spiked chain to the mechanism, it seemed to be an exact fit.  
Checking if the new parts were hot enough, he took them out of the fire and began hammering them to shape.

It took them a long and grueling twelve hours to complete both maces, but it was done by sunrise.  
Both of them slept in bedrolls, with Nick facing the ceiling while Lars slept face-down.  
A loud voice had woken them up by the sun's peak.  
"LORD NICKOLAUS! A SKIRMISH HAS STARTED BETWEEN THE KINGDOM'S FORCES AND THE DRAGON CULTISTS!"  
Nick and Lars nearly jumped out of their bedrolls upon hearing that shout, grabbed their weapons, and rushed outside.  
"Angelic Killer! Use this!"  
Nick tossed him a medallion.  
"This will let you ride the horses I have raised!"  
Lars nodded, and both held it up as soon as they stepped out of the main door.  
Two massive horses sped towards them, and lowered themselves in front of the two warriors.  
"I know horses, but not as massive as these beasts. How can you raise them to be this large?"  
Nick laughed, and looked at Lars straight in the eye.  
"They're a different breed of horse, raised with my late grandfather's ways and special feed."  
"That would be more than enough of an explanation. I will not pry further, Village Chief."  
Both leapt on the saddles, took hold of the reins, and dashed out of the village.  
Lars couldn't pry his eyes off Nick's massive axe, however, and only stopped once they had reached their destination when Nick jumped off and drew it.  
Taking out his second mace, the Sanguine Dance, he pressed the switch that loosened the new chains, and kept it on hand just in case.  
Standing beside Nick, they watched over the battle raging over the two parties, their eyes sweeping the battlefield.  
The united armies of the five villages waited for the orders of their respective chiefs, arms at the ready.  
The signal was given when the Kingdom's forces began to be pushed back the line and the Dragon Cultist army's reinforcements arrived.  
Every fighter ran down the slope, swords, axes and spears raised, shields poised in front of them, shouting war cries which seemed to reach the heavens with their intensity.  
The archers lined themselved from higher ground and let loose a rain of arrows whose numbers seemed to darken the sky as they descended.  
"TEAR THE DRAGON CULTISTS AND THEIR MONSTERS APART! BREAK THROUGH THEIR RANKS! PUSH THEM BACK TO WHATEVER HELLHOLE THEY CRAWLED OUT OF!"  
Each fighter found their marks, and began fighting.

As for Nick's village, only two warriors were present, as the small army of a hundred were left behind to protect their home.  
Nick and Lars joined the fray, their weapons at the ready, both shouting a war cry from the depths of their hearts.  
They split ways at the last second, Lars fighting the Dragon Cultists' front lines while Nick tore through the reinforcements.  
Nick's massive axe cleaved through numbers of smaller Rune Tigers, automatons from ancient citadels, and Dragon Cultists.  
Parts, both mechanical and flesh flew like meat being chopped off.  
The axe itself seemed like the Grim Reaper's scythe as it plowed through the army, Lars' whip seemingly its tail which tore through the front lines.  
Other village chiefs joined in on the battle, One-Eyed Hugo carrying his massive lance, Kincaid with his spiked crystal sword, Lionel with a hammer decorated with the head of two Rune Tigers functioning as the striking sides, and Elea with her gilded lion-head-patterned chakrams.  
Elea took Lars' side, while the other village chiefs stayed with Nickolaus and helped in the battle.  
"FOR THE LOTUS MARSH REGION, AND ALL ITS INHABITANTS!"  
Lars' voice rang throughout with a loud shout, along with all the other fighters from all villages, while Elea watched his actions.  
For her, this long and wild-haired Crusader was more brutal, his weapon a mystery, and his power attractive and mysterious.  
The unified army of the village chiefs drove back both the Kingdom's forces and the Dragon Cultists' army.  
Nick ran to higher ground, planted his axe to the ground, and shouted, increasing their army's morale, accompanied with the other chiefs.  
Their shouts reverbrated throughout the battlefield, a large mix of voices in a marvelous chorus.  
"THUS WE DECLARE OUR AUTONOMY FROM THE KINGDOM! WE ARE FREE, AND TELL THE KING THAT!"  
A general from the Kingdom's army was seething, and charged towards Nickolaus, a spear in hand.  
"YOU CAN NOT DECIDE THAT FOR YOURSELVES, DAMN BACKWATER HICKS!"  
Elea saw through it, and ran towards Nick, intent on saving him.  
"Master Nickolau-"  
The spear hit her hard in between her breasts, pinning her to the ground.  
Blood welled up from where she was impaled, and Nick had a look of horror on his face, which twisted itself to a look of sheer fury as he turned his gaze towards the general, who was laughing to himself.  
He picked up his axe, charged towards the general, and jumped upwards even if he was split between the choices of splitting him apart or crushing him with the axe's blade.  
The decision landed on him doing both, with the impact of the blow severing the general's limbs, crushing his body and popping his head like a ripe watermelon being hit full-force with a baseball bat.  
His breath ragged, Nickolaus ran back to Elea, only to find Lars pulling the spear out of her.  
"Answer me, Angelic Killer, can you heal her?"  
Lars could only grin.  
"I healed wounds worse than this, Village Chief. Rest assured, her life is in no fatal danger."  
He extended his hand, and a green light healed Elea, with no scar or mark left behind.  
Looking at Lars, she could only give him a question.  
"Why save my life, Crusader?"  
"For my friend that had just so recently avenged you."  
Lars looked at Nick, and nodded.  
"She's good to go. Our victory is assured, your region's freedom secured. Never have I seen a fighting force so frightening as you and your allies' army."  
A feast happened that night, the four chiefs' villages roaring with music, festivities, and laughter, something previously thought impossible due to the infighting they had so recently suffered before the truce.

Elea was being watched over by Lars, while Nick talked with the other village chiefs.  
"As I said, if we keep this up, the liberation of our region is secured, once we drive away every last one of the Kingdom's and Dragon Cultists' armies."  
One-Eyed Hugo patted his left knee, and stroked his beard.  
"However, if we really will cut our ties with the Kingdom, how can we earn money for our villages?"  
Kincaid slammed a hand on the floor, brows furrowed and eyeing his fellows.  
"We can always drop the coin of the Kingdom and go back to growing our own and mining our own! It's how we did it during our youth, we can do it again!"  
Lionel looked at the three, and calmly crossed his arms across his chest.  
"Lord Kincaid has a point, Lord Hugo. Our resources are as vast as the Ancient Temples, their treasures ours for the taking, their metals ours to remodel."  
"Precisely, Lord Lionel! Why can't you understand that, Lord Hugo? Farming's one of our main key points, to the point that even the farms of the Kingdom can't match our productivity!"  
"Lord Kincaid, who do you propose leads the farming, then?"  
Nick stood up, hands on his waist.  
"A chosen person from each of our villages. I propose to combine all our farmable lands and let the four govern all of it, from the selection of the seeds to the harvest and everything in between."  
The three other village chiefs clapped, with Lionel grinning widely.  
"As expected of the grandson of Theodore! Such wisdom, even in youth! He has certainly raised you well!"  
Lars was leaning against the wall, and brushed his hair up so the entirety of his face was visible.  
"Honorable chiefs, perhaps you should set this plan well after the war has ended. All of us are, sadly, not yet completely free."  
Lionel eyed Lars cautiously.  
"And what about you, priest? For what purpose have you sided with us?"  
"I grew sick and tired of the clergy and their righteous ways."  
"To note, you don't really look like a priest. Your wildly-grown long white hair is one thing, but your weaponry and skill with them is another. What part of the clergy were you?"  
"The part that presides over tortures, executions and burials."  
All chiefs fell silent, including Nick, who sat back down and took a large gulp of wine.  
"Elders, he is one of my men as of today. Surely you have seen him fight and not hold back at all?"  
They offered no reply except for nods of approval.  
"Then its settled. We declare our autonomy at the end of the war, and produce our own supplies like old times."  
The elder chiefs stood up, bowed to Nick which bowed in return, and left.

Lars spied a large cello at the corner, placed it in the middle of the room, and played a piece.  
It was a theme which inspired feelings of greater determination, hope, warmth, and courage.  
Even if the pacing was slow and it had a bit of sadness in it, somehow, the flame in Nick's heart only burned further.  
Looking at Lars' peaceful face as he played and at Elea's sleeping face, he began missing Alurrie.  
"I have a woman that I love. You might have heard of her, Lars."  
"Ah yes, Kasarana's greatest prodigy. I was only able to see her once, during the announcement of the new Six Heroes, from my perch in one of the church's bell towers."  
Never once ceasing to play the piece, Lars looked at the ceiling.  
"T'is fate that brought us together, and in turn, all of us must play our parts."  
"I'd like to believe that we as humans possess free will. The most uncontrollable being in existence, surpassing even the dragons."  
A subtle, almost inaudible change in the tune happened, yet the feelings it imparts haven't changed.  
The true power of humanity had always been a mystery to themselves.  
Nick slowly laid down on the floor and closed his eyes, easily slipping to a deep sleep.  
On that first snore, Lars propped the cello on the wall, and looked out the window.  
The crescent moon seemed so beautiful, even to him.  
Elea snuck behind him and held him in her arms.  
"I forgot to thank you for saving my life in the earlier skirmish. What do you prefer I call you, Crusader?"  
"Just for this war, Angelic Killer. My name's Lars, formerly of the Executioner Faction of the clergy."  
She rested her hand on his mace-whip's handle, and looked at him straight in the eye.  
And one of her chakrams placed right next to his throat.  
"What are your ulterior motives, priest?"  
"Lower your blade, for I have none. My only aim is to survive this war."  
"Know this, priest. Should you betray us, I will slice your throat before you even know it."  
She lowered her blade, and turned her back on him, and set her weapon aside.  
Lying on a small mattress, she gave him one last look before closing her eyes.  
A smile formed on Lars' face before he lied down on the wooden floor and slept.

The skirmishes continued by sunrise the next day, with the Dragon Cultists and the Kingdom continuing where they left off, while the armies of the village chiefs waited for the right moment to strike, with both opposing armies' decimation as their objective.  
They saw their chance, and charged full-force, with their leaders at the head of the pack.  
Kincaid, Lionel, One-Eyed Hugo, Elea, Nick and Lars, all of their weapons at the ready, roaring their war cry.  
They tore through the fighting armies and wedged themselved well in the middle, while their leaders charged through to the bases of the leaders of both parties.  
The first three went for the army's camps, while the remaining went for the Dragon Cultists' base, all on horses raised by Nick.  
The massive horses trampled anything in their way, from barricades to the soldiers guarding them, even through the tents used by the soldiers.  
Both parties raided their respective targets, the tents of the commanders present.  
Might against might, three against a massive group.  
Lionel and Kincaid lost their lives that day valiantly, in the heat of battle.  
It was said that even if he had bled out, Lionel still continued fighting, crushing every enemy in front of him.  
Kincaid, despite heavy wounds on his abdomen and a back full of arrows, was still able to cut off the Kingdom's army commander's head off.  
One-Eyed Hugo lost his right arm against a tamed Ogre wielding a large cleaver, but was still able to take it down by kicking his lance from the beast's skull.  
Stashing the medals that held the horses in a pouch tied to his waist, and rode away to their base where his wounds were treated.  
The other three were more fortunate, escaping with all of them bearing only minor wounds.  
Lars threw off his red mantle, now tattered and ripped, and lit it up in order to set fire to the Dragon Cultists' base.  
Nick provided the oil needed to help scatter the fire, and Elea planted the explosives they had taken on the way.  
With a large explosion and the loud roars of the Swampland Army, both opposing forces fighting in their territories scurried away.  
That day sealed their victory, albeit briefly.

The following day, a funeral was held for Kincaid and Lionel, their remains burnt in a large funeral pyre.  
Nick appeared in that wearing his armor, holding Lionel's hammer, Lars holding Kincaid's crystal sword.  
Flames burning wildly seemed to reach to their very souls as the families mourned.  
For Kincaid, his granddaughter and her husband.  
For Lionel, all the children he had adopted and took in as his own family.  
Hearing their grieving voices was more than enough for Nick to bolster his own resolve, and for Lars to remember the pain he had so recently experienced.  
After the funeral, they went back to Nick's home, in his village.  
Lars took a knife out and chopped off the excess growth of his hair, until it was short enough for his face to be clearly visible.  
"Here's to a new life, one of freedom and autonomy for this region."  
Elea patted his back and smiled at him.  
"Never would've thought you were THAT handsome, priest. You look SO delicious right now, I can barely hold myself back from having a taste."  
She yanked his head towards her and kissed him, driving her tongue inside his, licking the insides of his mouth from the teeth to as far as she could go.  
They kissed soundly then she pulled away.  
"Quite a treat. Yum."  
She wiped the thin trail of drool from her mouth with her right sleeve, and went inside Nick's home.  
Nick laughed at Lars' surprised face, with wide eyes and mouth agape.

That night, Nick and Lars eased down and had a long drinking session in the open-air bath.  
Elea brought them their food and drink, her sisters and cousins the ones who cooked them.  
Their brief respite was more than enough to solidify their partnership in this war.  
The hell with it, they had a great deal of fun fighting anyways.  
It was always like that for people who fight for their lives.  
No remorse or regret, sure as hell they weren't going to mourn for everyone who had died.  
They drank and ate until they passed out, floating in the steaming water.  
It was already midday when they woke up in their respective rooms, Nick in the master room, Lars in a guest room.  
They ate as they waited for news about the status about the war's front against the Black Dragon.  
Time seemed to pass slowly as Nick went with his usual routine when not fighting, which are tending to the horses, drinking, checking the port and the warehouse for new arrivals, drinking, watching over his village, and drinking.  
Lars accompanied him wherever, wearing his usual armor and solemn frown, both maces in their holsters.  
It seemed as though the village chief also called as the "Iron Tiger of Lotus Marsh" had tamed the notorious Lars, known as the "Angelic Killer of Saint Haven", dubbed by the villagers as the "White-Haired Nephilim".  
They stared at the horizon, the black clouds marking the area of the Black Dragon seemingly waning in numbers, signaling a change in the war, but more drastic than what they thought.  
News came by nightfall that the battle with the Black Dragon ended in tragedy, with Rothius taking the Black Dragon's Lustre and Stormgrace, the supposed only survivor, was crowned as Bishop the same day he was welcomed back by the clergy.  
He would've believed it, if not for two fishermen bringing an unconscious Alurrie from the river where they caught their fish for selling and food.

She explained the situation about what happened, and the reason why Rothius did what he did.  
They listened in on every word, how they had fought together, and how she had befriended him during the war, along with the confirmation that he was the one Nickolaus fought the past year.  
Rothius was the successor of the Dubhe Fist, the Northern War God Fist, and Nick had felt how dangerous it was fighting the current master of a martial art meant to destroy anything and everything in its path.  
Lars explained what he knew of all three arts of the fist to the three.  
The Dubhe School had one successor along with the Arhat School, while the Sirius School had five successors fight each other to become the sole master.  
The Dubhe Style dealt with powerful attacks of the closed fist combined with the user's inherent energy and bone-crushing fast kicks, their sword style tailored with using quick slashes mixed with deadly precision meant to slice their opponents to pieces.  
The Arhat Style had attacks with flowing open-palm strikes, powerful and crippling sweeping kicks, their axe style suited for successively larger axes to crush, smash and slice their opponents to bits with pure power at their command.  
The mysterious Sirius Style had fluid dance-like kicks and clawed-hand strikes, while their weaponry was learned individuall by each student, which meant that the user can learn any weapon to go alongside the fighting style.  
Lars' Sirius Fist was only a derivative meant to accomodate his mastery of the whip, mace and sword, his kicks mixed with both the traditional dance-like kicks powered by lightning made by the user's mana, his hand strikes a mix of the Arhat and Dubhe styles, meaning he had lost the battle for successorship years ago.  
His opponent was a fellow cleric-in-training whose name was never given, but was famous for his quick mastery of it.  
Their fight was settled in an arena used by those training in the Sirius Style, located at an old temple used to house the current master, now an old relic of a style that was never passed down, for the new master had disappeared to the mists of time.  
Nick swallowed and remembered how he had to kill his master to preserve the sanctity of the one master, one student rule.  
No one knew what Rothius did with his master after becoming the master of the Dubhe Style, but all three guessed he tore the person apart.  
His prowess was proved in their battle at the arena with each using half of their true prowess.  
Their fight was remembered like the old tale of the fight between the Sentinel and the Chaos Dragons in their ferocity, and if it hadn't been timed, they would've destroyed each other.  
As the night deepened, their questions were answered by Lars, each and every one of them.

The next day came, and a Cleric was sent to tell Lars to go back to his duties as chief of the Executioners in Saint Haven.  
He only gave some words to that messenger.  
"I decline, now ride back to that monastery. Back underneath the new Bishop's waistcloth with you, whoreson!"  
"You are guilty of deserting your post, Lars!This guarantees you excommunication, Lars"  
"I am aware of the consequences. Now, away with you!"  
The Cleric rode away with a white horse, seemingly diminutive as it sped past Nick's massive horses.  
Nick overheard their conversation, and gave Lars a pat on the shoulder.  
"Nice words, Lars. Really civilized."  
Lars could only answer with a loud laugh.  
"He deserved every word, Nick."  
Both laughed and went to the dining hall to eat their breakfast in high spirits and wide grins in their faces.  
Alurrie had already started eating along with Elea and Hazirra, along with their sisters and cousins.  
"Good morning, you two. Breakfast time!"  
Both sat down and ate until they had their fill, and could feel the food almost reach their throats.  
They saw Alurrie off when she boarded a boat to continue her journeys, and returned to their usual daily lives.

That evening, two hooded Assassins from East Lagendia arrived, and presented Nick with a scroll.  
In it was an invitation to join their cause to destroy the current Kingdom.  
The Army of the Sky, supposedly led by East Lagendia's King, a masked man only known for his exploits in repelling the currend King of Central Lagendia.  
His army numbered by the hundred thousands, a diminutive part of them composed by assassins, all their skills honed to precision.  
"State your names."  
"Shuren and Hyuui, good Lord Nickolaus."  
"Profession?"  
"Assassins on call, our jobs by day are as follows : I work as a woodworker, and my twin brother Hyuui is a fisherman who travels alone."  
"One thing gets my wonder. Who could've told you about us?"  
"Do you remember the silent, masked fisherman who was in the boat with the one who rescued your beloved? It was our Lord and Master."  
Nick's eyes widened.  
"Your beloved told him of you, and it seemed you would be of great help to our cause after she joined without hesitation. As for your associate here. . ."  
Shuren raised his head and looked at Lars.  
". . . It would seem that he can be of help, too. If he is more than willing."  
"I am excommunicated by the clergy, and thus are acting on my own free will."  
Lars placed a hand on the mace-whip's handle, while Hyuui placed both hands on the knives on his belt.  
Both Shuren and Nick stood up and made a motion to stop them, and when their gaze met the other's, they let out a loud laugh.  
"Very well! I accept your Lord's invitation. We have long since been trade partners, and thus he has my trust."  
"About that. . . the former Master has already passed away during the war, and now his only son is leading the land, but every bit as good as father."  
"Send our condolences along with our acceptance of his invitation."  
Nickolaus opened the scroll, cut his finger with a knife, and signed it.  
The two Assassins nodded, and left by sunrise disguised as fishermen.  
Nick gave them a bag with jewels and and a set of armor for their master as a sign of good will, while Lars gave them food for their trip.

The next day greeted them with a package from the Resistance.  
A metal rod with their insignia was presented to them, and they proceeded with haste to mark their armors with it.  
A meeting was held with the new circle of village chiefs later that day.  
Kincaid was succeeded by Illyazar, the husband of his granddaughter, carrying a smaller version of their crystal sword.  
Lionel was succeeded by the eldest of his adopted children, Dawson, bearing his late foster father's weapon.  
The purpose was the discussion of setting up their proposed field to start farming.  
Set up in the middle of the four villages, leaving only a thin road good enough for Nick's horses to pass through.  
The ground was fertile enough to start work almost immediately, their entire army deployed to start their path to autonomy.  
It was completed in a week, from the irrigation system to the planting of the seeds.  
All of them knew the storm might wash away the land, so they deepened the waterways.  
Another week had passed, and the storms did come in all its fury.  
The villagers kept watch over the waterways, and select parties went to investigate the surrounding areas.  
Particularly the edge of the river where the risk of water overflowing was greater.

* * *

"And it was on that day we found Rothius, all chopped up."  
"Indeed. As for your participation in the One-Year War, it was splendid. We might've lost if not for your involvement, my friend."  
They ate bread and cheese to go along with their wine, and looked out the window.  
"It would seem that our battle is not yet over, Nick."  
"Battles are meant to last."  
A diminutive Elf with slightly longer ears entered the room.  
"Ah, Noa. Welcome. Have a seat."  
She shook her head, and went on her way.  
The son of Illyazar, Hogan, accompanied her from behind.  
"The daughter of Ami and the nephew of Saladin. Fierce as they are, it is still up to our incoming guest to test their true mettle."  
"Yes, our guest."  
Lars let out a laugh, while Nick looked towards the night sky.  
"Surely he will agree with us, and join us."

Hazirra, now a full-grown young lady, looked at the painting of Rothius, back then when he was known as a hero.  
"Lord Rothius. . . I wonder how he has changed all these years?"  
A sigh escaped her lips and she slowly fell into a deep sleep, her chest slowly rose and fell with her breathing.  
In another room, Noa stared at the ceiling as she lay on her bed.  
In her mind were questions as to what kind of person was able to kill her mother.  
Was he a monster, a demon, or an even more ancient evil to be regarded as the "Man who carries the blood and heart of a Demon"?  
Why was he the center of all this chaos, deaths and suffering?  
What was his reasons for killing her mother and betraying the Six Heroes, no, the world?  
How did he survive each and every attempt on his life brought by the army?  
Questions flooded her mind, and it made her eyelids heavy, sending her to the sleep of the tired.  
Hogan unsheathed his crystal sword, and looked at it.  
Quite different from what his father, uncle and grandfather used, their crystal swords shone a clear blue, his was a white light.  
"For what reason did Rothius kill my uncle?"  
Sheathing the blade and laying in his bed, his gaze swept through the ceiling and he, too, fell asleep almost immediately.

As for Nick and Lars, they fell asleep after finishing their wine and food.  
Both laid on the floor of Nick's meeting room, sound asleep.  
Little did they notice the light in the horizon as the downtown's slums of Saint Haven burned.  
Time seemed to pass them by, and it was sunrise that the voice of the watchman had woken them up.  
"I see it! The boat, and it has Lady Alurrie in it! The Resistance's escape boat!"  
Noa woke up first, and stared at the horizon, spotting that small figure in the horizon.  
She felt Rothius' presence, sending a shiver down her spine, not clearly understanding whether it was from fear of his power, or the excitement of learning the reasons behind her mother's murder.  
Hazirra stirred from the noise, waking earlier even than Elea, and combed her hair, a smile on her face.  
Her heart that yearned to see Rothius again, powerfully so that she could barely contain it.  
Hogan, Nick and Lars still slept on, unbothered by the sound, the former due to fatigue from training, the latter from sheer inebriation.  
Tears flowed from Lars' eyes as his dreams brought back memories that haunted him in his sleep.

Memories of his family.  
His father, mother, and younger sister.  
They lived a peaceful and happy life during his training as a Cleric.  
The times he was allowed to go home and stay with them for the weekends.  
The moments his younger sister clung to him and asked him a lot of questions concerning his training.  
Those peaceful days where his mother and father would talk to him over homecooked meals, especially the stew she made.  
The days where kindness and warmth flooded his heart.  
The period where he hasn't thrown away every bit of love he ever possessed.  
And the day where his family was murdered, and his house burnt down to the ground.  
He had wanted to see his younger sister get married, his parents grow old.  
That simple wish that was destroyed by two bandits who had raided his home.  
From that moment on, his heart froze solid and thoughts of anger and vengeance flooded his mind.  
Down to the very day he caught the criminals responsible and executed them again and again, never fully giving them the peace of death until he passed out of exhaustion.  
The days that followed that one, he betrayed the clergy, killed officials, and made the people fear him.  
Pain flooded his heart, an overwhelming amount of grief and sadness almost too much for him to keep inside.  
They thought of him as an insane monster, when he was simply a man lashing out at his sad fate, lamenting the loss of his only family.  
Not knowing whether he was truly visited by the ghosts of his family in his slumber, they appeared in his subconscious.  
His younger sister was there, holding his hands, smiling yet crying at the same time.  
His parents were there, tearfully smiling at him.  
Whether it was a conscious or unconscious reflex, he had said these words in his sleep.

His father, Quincy, was an orphan taken in by his mother's family after the first Black Dragon War.  
Deemed unfit to be a Warrior or a Cleric due to his sickness and small stature, he lived on as a normal farmer.  
His strength was not from the outside, but from the heart.  
He married the daughter of his benefactor, who was more than eager to accept.  
He also taught Lars how to play the cello, and was supposedly a quietly-celebrated artist in their village.  
Together, they bought a patch of fertile land and erected a small farm.  
Well-versed in farming, he began selling well-grown fruits and vegetables in a small village near Calderock Pass.  
He also single-handedly raised cows and sheep which were in the peak of health.  
They also sold the milk and meat from the oldest ones.  
A thin, gaunt man with ever-brilliant smile and sparkling eyes despite his health issues.

His mother, Ava, was a sorceress in training when she met Lars' father.  
She jovially quit her life as a sorceress after he proposed to her.  
A towering woman with a strong presence, she easily intimidates people she talks to.  
She was a strong woman, both physically and mentally, but a bit fragile concerning matters of the heart.  
When they built the farm, she made up the manpower by using the powers she had gained.  
Her cooking skills were great enough to keep her husband a lot healthier than before.  
A fan of her husband and son's cello playing, she could keep listening for hours.  
She also made maintenance medicines to keep his health at the peak as it could keep up.  
A cheerful woman who always was satisfied with her life, and always a smile on her face.

His younger sister, Lynn, was born two years after he was.  
She had her mother's fiery red hair and her father's blue eyes, while he had his father's white hair and emerald eyes.  
The favorite of the family, she would tag along with her brother everytime he went out to play in the field with his friends.  
She always loved the chocolates Lars would share with her, even if she always got the bigger half.  
Also a fan of Lars' cello playing, she would stay in front of him as he played.  
A bit of a clingy child, she wouldn't let go of Lars' hand whenever they went to Calderock Pass to visit a few friends.  
She grew up playing with wooden swords and making stones bounce across the river, somewhat alienating her from the girls in their village.  
She would dress up with shirts and overalls, and would tie her hair with a white ribbon Lars gave her as a present.  
In a few years, she would be of marriable age, and Lars knew there would be no shortage of marriage proposals and men to kick out of their farm.  
A kind and well-liked tomboyish girl from the countryside.

"Forgive me, Father, Mother, Lynn. . . I have avenged you, yet destroyed myself in the process. . ."  
They could only nod at him.  
"I can't go with you just yet. . . A lot of things lie ahead in my journey. ."  
His father moved closer, a tearfully-determined look on his face.  
"Then let me remind you of what happened to us, to bolster your determination, my beloved son."  
He laid his right hand on Lars' left shoulder, which a warm light began shining.  
"Let me remind you of what happened to us, and let it guide your hands, my firstborn."  
His mother laid her left hand on Lars' right shoulder, and another warm light began shining.  
"Let us remind you of what happened to us, to ignite once again your frozen heart, my dear elder brother."  
His younger sister held his hands tight, and the final warm light shone on him, on an almost-blinding brilliance.  
And in their united voices, they all said the same thing as the light from their souls seemed to blast him away with such force.  
He tried in vain to reach them as he flew backwards, tears flowing from his bloodshot eyes.  
"GUWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! FATHER! MOTHER! LYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNN!"

"Because you have loved us so deeply and was compassionate to us up to our final farewell, watch our final moments up to your downfall to seek your own answers and revive the flame of life and battle in your heart!"


End file.
